


Cunliffe and Strike Investigative Services

by SleepyEye



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Blow Jobs, Burlesque, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasizing, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Post Carer of Evil, Resolved Romantic Tension, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Violence, boobies!, kissing!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-02-03 05:40:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 89
Words: 80,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12742119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepyEye/pseuds/SleepyEye
Summary: Post Career of Evil, Robin is married to Matthew and working with Strike. The best of both worlds, until it's not. (Trust me it's better than the summary.)For some reason I never write the kind of fanfics that I enjoy reading (I love fluffy one-shots) and instead go off on massive drawn-out novels filled with plot twists and drama. You have been warned.





	1. Sunday Kind of Love

Strike stumped down the stairs and paused outside the office door. Robin was inside and she was singing.  
“I want a Sunday kind of love…”  
Her voice was high and clear and Cormoran waited, his hand on the doorknob, and let the music sift into his soul.  
“The kind that lasts past Saturday night...”  
Strike backed up silently, then took heavy steps on the stairs to warn her that he was coming. She sang on.  
“And I'd like to know it's more than love at first sight...”  
He opened the door and Robin stopped with a squeak of surprise.  
“Sorry,” Cormoran said. Robin was a shade of red that he had never seen before.  
“Oh, no, I’m sorry.”  
“Don’t be. You have a wonderful voice.”  
Robin’s blush only deepened. She could stop traffic with her face.  
“We were dancing to that song at my dance class last night. I guess it got stuck in my head.”  
“I didn’t know you were taking a dance class,” Strike said, intrigued.  
“I haven’t been for long. My sister-in-law signed us all up for a class as a joke for her bachelorette party, and I enjoyed it so much I stuck with it. It’s a great group of women. We went out for drinks last night.”  
“That’s good.”  
Strike was glad that she was reaching out and meeting new people. She had always struck him as a very solitary person, almost lonely. She never talked about any friendships outside of Matthew and her family.  
“My dance teacher says she knows you.”  
“Oh yeah?”  
“Yeah. Coco Barline.”  
Strike froze, his eyes wide. Robin felt her stomach sink.  
“Oh no,” she murmured, “Were you-” She didn’t know how the finish the sentence. Dating? Lovers?  
“No, nothing like that. We’re acquaintances. She’s friends with Detective Wardle’s wife.”  
Robin sensed something more under the surface.  
“Why do you look like I’ve just served you eel then?”  
“Isn’t she a… a stripper?”  
Robin laughed.  
“You just spent the better part of an evening at a strip club,” she said, “Don’t act so prudish. Besides, burlesque isn’t stripping. It’s much more artistic.” Strike raised an eyebrow. “Burlesque is all about romance,” Robin explained, “Stripping is just lust. You don’t get naked in burlesque, for one. At most you just go down to pasties and feathers.”  
Strike tried to think of anything but Robin in pasties and feathers.  
“Right,” he muttered, “Anyways. Do you want to take Stars and Stripes today, or Mini Me?”  
“I’ll take Mini Me, if you don’t mind. I did Stars and Stripes yesterday, it’s probably best if we switch it up a bit, he’s a bit paranoid.”  
“Good. And we have an appointment at three.”  
Robin beamed. She loved it when he took small secretarial things upon himself, like scheduling appointments. It was a reminder that they were partners, not boss and employee. They took cases together, managed the workload together, and the sign on the door read Cunliffe and Strike, but she still found it hard to believe that they were truly in it together.


	2. The Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some plot gets going here. Weeee!

Robin walked along the river, her hand deep in her pockets. Crowds of young people and tourists swarmed around her, mimicking the river’s current. A group of teenage boys were practicing parkour on the steps, springing up off the low wall to grab lamp-posts, spinning silhouetted in the dark.  
The trees were decorated with blue and white lights that reminded her of being a child, sleeping under the stars on her uncle’s farm and seeing farther up than she could comprehend. She missed the country, and the stars, and a sky not clogged with buildings.  
Her honeymoon in New York had been loud and busy and filled down to the minute with tours and events and dinner reservations. They had done all the sights. Times Square, the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building. It was beautiful, and Matthew kept them in the height of style, eating at the best restaurants and having front-row seats to Broadway productions. Robin saw his effort and tried to keep her exhaustion hidden from him. She was touched by all the effort he had put into planning, and flattered by his care. Finally, though, at the Museum of Modern Art, Matthew had remarked for the tenth time that he “could have made a better painting at age five,” and Robin had snapped, “Why don’t you go do it, then? We could be millionaires.” He had responded with another worn-out comment about her salary, which returned to the same old argument that they had been having for the past year.  
Robin sighed and leaned against the low wall that overlooked the Thames. A psychology professor had once shown them MRIs showing a person’s brain while feeling different emotions. He explained to them that true anger in the brain only lasted three to five minutes. Everything after that initial burst of adrenaline was a personal decision to feel angry. She stared at the water lapping below her and tried to choose not to be angry. She imagined her anger ebbing away with the flow of the water. None of it mattered. Her feelings were all just choices. She only felt what she chose to feel. After a minute of this she decided that her teacher was full of shit. The first three minutes of anger may have passed days before, but the memories were still fresh and raw, and every time they resurfaced, her anger did as well, smarting with the same pulsing immediacy that it had had at the very beginning.  
_How dare he how dare he how dare he._  
It was a tired old mantra, worn thin and dry, and it ran through her head without much intention.  
She was struck with the sudden realization that there was nobody in the world who could make her feel better. She was utterly alone, and, even more surprising, she didn't really mind. She wondered if the Primrose Bakery was open. She would kill for a Chocolate Bomb cupcake.  
She was crossing the street on the way over to the bakery, lost in her own thoughts, when she heard the rev of an engine and looked up to see a black car bearing down on her. Its headlights were off, making it nearly invisible in the dark. She jumped to the side, thrusting her open umbrella out in front of her like a makeshift airbag. The umbrella was wrenched out of her hands and pulled under the wheels of the car with a snap that made Robin shudder.  
She was on the wet ground, though she couldn’t remember falling. She realized that she was shaking all over.  
“Are you alright, then, love?”  
A pre-teen boy had gotten off his bike and was holding his hand out to her. His friends were waiting under the streetlight, staring open-mouthed. She took his hand and stood.  
“I’m fine, thanks.”  
One of his friend grabbed her keys from where they had fallen on the ground and handed them to her.  
“You hurt?”  
“No. Just shaken. Thank you.”  
They nodded and rode off into the night.  
Robin picked up her snapped umbrella. Half of it had been torn off, probably still attached to the wheel of the car. She stared at the shattered handle and shivered, aware that it could have been her neck under the wheels.


	3. Mini Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing two short chapters today. I felt like they were too different to put as one, but too short to split up.

Strike wike up to the sound of his phone buzzing. He had been up all night on a case, and had slept throughout the day. The case was difficult and sad, and had given him restless dreams.  
A family of refugees was being harassed by a neighbor but couldn’t press charges until they had proof that what was happening was, in fact, a hate crime. Their lawn had been covered in dog shit, more than any one dog could do in a week, let alone one night. Their cat had been run over and left on their porch. A window had been broken. Their neighbor would sit in his car and stare at them all day, just watching, never going quite far enough to justify a call to the police. The family had a quiet, watchful, eight-year-old son named Yusef, who had thick curly hair and bottle-cap glasses and adored Cormoran. Robin had nicknamed the case “Mini Me” in Yusef’s honor. She thought that Cormoran and Yusef were kindred spirits, and Cormoran begrudgingly went along with it.  
Strike had stayed up all night the night before, waiting outside the family’s house, waiting for the man to make his move, to no end. He then trailed a young woman suspected of sleeping with her boss before coming home around noon in a cynical and lethargic mood, and had fallen asleep with his prosthetic on and a bowl of chilli on his lap.  
He grumbled and rolled over to pick up his phone. He had slept all day and the sun was starting to go down behind him. He swiped his phone open and blinked at the message for a moment. Then he bolted up so fast that his bowl of chilli shattered on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The case he's working is based on true events that happened to a family I know, sadly. Fortunately, the man harassing them was caught.


	4. Rear Window

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody know why the site isn't letting me indent?

Robin tried to stay focused on the screen as Matthew sucked noisily on her neck. Instead of going out for a date night they had decided to stay in, watch Rear Window, and eat popcorn. Robin had watched Rear Window once as a kid and had been completely entranced. She had always wanted to watch it again, to show Matthew that side of her, to show him what had captured her childhood imagination and filled her with dreams of adventure and excitement. Matthew reached around and pinched at her nipple.  
“You’re missing the best part,” she said.  
“Hmmm I think you’re the one missing the best part,” he murmured.  
“Is that so?”  
“Mm.”  
“And just which part are you talking about?”  
Matthew’s hand ran down her hip and between her legs.  
“I think you’re about to find out.”  
Robin pressed pause, then turned and kissed him, silently hoping that it would be fast so that they could finish the movie. She pulled him down on top of her and fumbled with his clothes. He trailed wet kisses down her chest, undoing her blouse as he went, and Robin closed her eyes in the hopes that she might feel more that way. She reached out a hand and blindly groped for the bedside table, where she kept the condoms in a hollowed-out book. Matthew paused from his ministrations.  
“What if we didn’t?” he said.  
Robin froze.  
“Didn’t what?”  
“Didn’t use one? Just for tonight.”  
She stared up at him in shock.  
“Look, I’m not saying let’s start a family,” he said, putting his hands up in defense, “I’m just saying, what if we just… relaxed a bit?”  
“You do realize that starting a family and condoms are fairly closely linked, right?”  
“Not really. I mean people try for a long time to get pregnant. People use calendars and timers and pills and stuff.”  
Robin’s phone started buzzing. She stayed frozen, her hand outstretched.  
“Besides,” Matthew said, “We’re married now. It’s not like it would be unexpected.”  
Robin blinked. One minute ago everything had been wonderful. Or, at least, normal. How had the mood been so thoroughly ruined? Her phone started buzzing again.  
“I’m sorry,” she said, although she didn’t know exactly why she was apologizing, “I’ll let it go to voicemail.”  
Matthew smiled.  
“Good girl.”


	5. The Text Message

_ Robin. Pick up NOW. _

Strike paced up and down. Why wasn’t she answering? What had happened to her? He ran his hands through his hair for the millionth time, making it even more wild than usual. He took a deep breath, pulling his hands down over his face. How many threatening letters and messages had he received and written off? Why should one addressed to her be any different? He shook his head. She’s fine. She’s perfectly alright.

His phone buzzed in his hands and he opened it before the first ring finished.

“Robin. Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m fine. I’m at home.”

“Are you alone?”

“Matthew is here.”

“Good. Have you looked at your text messages? Have you gotten anything?”

“I haven’t looked. I’ve been in the shower, and called you as soon as I saw all your missed calls.” Robin winked at Matthew, who grinned back at her.

“Check your texts right now, then call me back.”

“I can do both at the same time, honestly, you need to learn how to use your phone.” 

“Just do it.”

“Alright. I’m putting you on speaker, then.” She switched speaker on and scanned through her texts. “Okay, two from you asking me to pick up my phone, yes, here’s one.”

She froze.

“What does it say?”

She couldn’t speak.

“Robin?”

The screen had a photograph of her on her wedding day, poorly photoshopped with Xs over her eyes and a bloody gash across her neck. _ I will fuck you the way he does, and then murder you in front of him. He will finally know how it feels to be me. _

She turned off speaker and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Yes, I see why you called.” Seeing Matthew’s concerned expression, she smiled at him reassuringly and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

“You’re safe?” Cormoran asked.

“Yes. Yes I am.”

“Stay inside. We’ll talk about this tomorrow. Can you drive in tomorrow?”

“I can.”

“Take your alarm with you everywhere. Don’t let your guard down.”

“I know.” She felt a mild prick of irritation that he even felt the need to remind her.

“Good. And Robin, remember, threats are part of the job. They’re usually meaningless. We can’t ignore it, but don’t lose too much sleep. We’ll deal with it in the morning.”

Robin realized that she had been holding her breath and released it in a rush.

“Right. Right. Thanks. Alright. Yes, I’m fine, Matthew’s here, I’m safe.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight.”

She hung up the phone and went back into the bedroom.

“Everything alright?” Matthew asked, “You looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

“It’s fine,” she said, “Just a new lead on a case.”


	6. The List

Cormoran was tense and distracted in the morning, missing his mug and spilling hot water on his hand. He cursed as he ran cold water over his burned fingers and thought about the text message he had received the night before. He had reread it what felt like a hundred times.

_I will fuck her the way you do, and then murder her in front of you. You will watch the light go out of her eyes and finally know how it feels to be me. It will be your fault for defiling her, you filthy pig._

Not the most creative threat. It seemed amateurish to him, which was the one reason he hadn’t suggested that Robin stayed home.

He couldn’t stay still, so he paced around the office, considering. _The way you do._ Clearly it was somebody who didn’t know either of them very well. The thought that they were having sex seemed laughable to Cormoran. _It will be your fault for defiling her._ Somebody who had developed an unhealthy obsession with Robin. Cormoran and Robin had received enough press throughout their partnership that anybody could have caught sight of her in a paper or on TV and gotten attached.

The door opened and Robin walked in. Cormoran felt his chest collapse in relief on seeing her. His mind went quiet for the first time since he had received the message.

“Robin,” he said, his voice higher than usual. He coughed. Robin grinned.

“I’m all in one piece,” she said, holding her arms out in demonstration. Cormoran felt the sudden surprising urge to hug her, and instead ran his hands through his hair.

“Thank God,” he said, ““I made you tea,” Strike said, “Would you like a biscuit?”

Robin was touched, and stuffed a chocolate biscuit in her mouth.

“Come on back,” Strike said, “Let’s talk.”

 

They exchanged phones and read each other’s messages.

“What are you thinking?” Cormoran asked. Robin was glad he didn’t ask her how she was feeling. She wasn’t sure she could answer.

“In mine the writer says ‘I will fuck you the way he does,’ which I assumed meant Matthew. But in yours it sounds like the writer is talking about you.”

“Indeed. It’s interesting that he assumes we’re sleeping together. Anybody who knows anything about you knows that you’re married.”

“You of all people should know that marriages are no guarantee of fidelity.”

“True. But you and me? They have some imagination.”

Robin tried to keep her face neutral. _Not that much imagination._

“But not much creativity,” Cormoran continued, “This might be the blandest threat we’ve ever received.”

“He’s certainly straight and to the point. Rape and murder. My first thought was Brockbank, of course, but the more I read it the less like him it sounds. It feels very amateurish. Plus ‘then he will know how I feel’ sounds like jealousy.”

“Let’s think about everybody who knows you. Somebody who might have gotten romantically attached. It could be a hairdresser, a bus driver, somebody who makes your coffee. Routines.”

“I started making a list, but really there were so many. Anybody could have seen me in the paper and developed some sort of fantasy.”

“Let’s see the list, then.”

Robin took a yellow legal pad out of her purse and handed it to Strike. Strike read,

_Brockbank (#1)_

_Current cases: Earl Belner or Ralph Washington, trying to scare me off_

_Former cases: Two Times, James Bond, Nose, Space Cowboy, Hornblower, Basset Hound, Mad Mullet_

_Matthew’s friends: Jordan, Kyle, Bob, *Darrin*_

_Fellow commuters_

_Geoff the butcher_

_Employees at Pret a Manger_

_Employees at cupcake shop_

_Any random nutter who saw me in the papers_

“As you san see, I got frustrated at the end there,” Robin said. Cormoran smiled.

“Understandably so.” He pointed to the name Darrin. “Why does Darrin have a star by him?”

“Oh, he’s just a bit creepy. Always stares too long, asks inappropriate questions, the like. He’s Matthew’s best friend, one of our groomsmen, so he’s around all the time. He's just had a baby though, last week, so I doubt he'd have the time and energy to plan threats. It's probably nothing."

"Can't be too careful."

"There’s too many to narrow it down now. We might just have to wait it out. See if they get any more aggressive.”

“I don’t like it,” Cormoran said.

“Me neither. But what am I supposed to do? It’s a blocked number, and I can’t go around questioning every single person I cross paths with.”

“I know,” he sighed, “And I know you’ll stay vigilant. It just worries me. He knows both of our personal numbers.”

“There’s one more person,” Robin said, twisting her hands around in circles, “His name is Garrett Chappell.”

“Garrett Chappell,” Strike said, “He’s the one who attacked you in college?”

Robin nodded.

“He’s in prison,” she said, “But he was recently transferred to a Category C. And he could be paying somebody outside,” she said.

“He writes it in first person, though. Hard to carry out threats from prison.”

“He could just get off on scaring me.”

Cormoran nodded. He looked at Robin, holding her elbows across the desk, and marveled. Ever since her wedding day he had admitted to himself that he had romantic feelings for her, though he would eat dirt before telling anybody. She confounded him, she amazed him, he wanted to dive into her mind and swim to the bottom. He couldn't think of a single person as brave as her, and it would be the death of him.

She looked up at him with defiance and fear in her eyes.

“Don't you dare tell me I can't work,” she said, “I know how to take care of myself.”

“I'm not your boss, I'm your partner,” Cormoran said, “I can't tell you to do anything.”

Robin took a deep shuddering breath, then smiled at him.

She would be the death of him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun writing the code names. Don't ask me what they mean or where they come from.  
> UPDATE: I didn't know how UK prisons worked, changed it.


	7. Little Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this one in a bit of a hurry, apologies if it's not as polished.

Robin had forgotten that she and Matthew had been invited over to meet Darrin’s new son, only a week old, until Matthew reminded her that morning. Robin considered begging a headache, but decided that it was best to go. Even if Darrin had, in fact, written the text messages, he could hardly make a move in front of his wife and Matthew. She would observe, see how he acted, and respond accordingly.

Darrin’s wife Colleen answered the door, smiling through great bags under her eyes, and ushered them in. Robin had always found Colleen to be a bit ditzy, but kind and welcoming, and Robin liked her. Darrin was at the kitchen table, cradling the baby in his arms.

“Matthew, Robin,” he said, “Meet George Marcus Devoir.”

The baby had a face like a stack of towels, folds of skin wrinkled on top of each other to form a sullen little pout. 

“He’s beautiful,” Robin said. Colleen beamed.

“Everybody says he’s the most perfect baby they’ve ever seen,” she said, “Would you like to hold him?”

Robin was taken aback.

“I-”

“Go on, then,” Darrin said, handing the baby to Robin before she could come up with a reason not to, “Support the neck, there you go.”

Robin held the baby gingerly, feeling his warm skull against her palm like a loaf of bread. 

“Hello George,” she said, “I’m Robin.” 

He stared up at her with serious eyes. Robin giggled. 

“You’re a solemn little chap, aren’t you. I like you.” She bounced him several times. “I like you a lot.”

The baby reached out and grabbed Robin’s breast.

“Oh, I think he’s hungry,” Robin laughed, and handed him off to Colleen.

“I’ll be right back,” Colleen said, going to the bedroom, “Dinner time for little chap!”

“He takes after his dad,” Darrin said, leering at Robin’s chest, “We both appreciate a good set of tits.”

Matthew laughed. 

“He is a man, after all,” he said. 

Robin excused herself. 

She found Colleen nursing in an armchair in the bedroom, and sat across from her on the bed. 

“Are you on maternity leave then?” Robin asked.

“Oh, no, I quit teaching to take care of the little one,” Colleen said.

“Is that hard?”

Colleen batted the question away with a vague hand.

“Oh, yes, well. Motherhood is a full-time job,” she said.

“I think fatherhood is pretty full-time too,” Robin said.

“Darrin has been very supportive,” Colleen said. She laughed. “The other day I found him asking Siri how to clean a toilet.”

“He's never cleaned a toilet before?”

Colleen shrugged.

“You know how men are,” she said vaguely. 

Robin looked at her hands and felt heavy iron panic clench around her chest. 

 

On the way home Matthew said,

“They seem happy, don't they.”

“Darrin does.”

“And Colleen.”

“Colleen seems tired.”

“Well that comes with the territory, doesn't it.”

“I suppose. It's a shame she quit teaching. I always thought she made an excellent teacher.”

“She'll make an excellent mother too. Besides, what were they supposed to do? They couldn't live on a teacher’s salary.”

“There's more important things than money, Matthew. Think of all the lives she was changing at that school.”

“So she should sacrifice her son for some strangers’ first graders?”

Robin sighed.

“Look, I’m glad that they’re happy. I guess I’m just not ready to have kids,” she said.

“You act like our having kids is a new sudden decision. You act like this hasn’t been the plan all along,” Matthew said.

“Has it been, though? Have we ever even talked about it?”

“We’ve talked about it,” he said, indignant, “Remember our first date? I asked you what you wanted in life, and you said you wanted to be a good wife and a good mom. That’s what you said.”

“I was in high school, Matthew, I said whatever I thought you wanted to hear.”

“Well nice of you to tell me that  _ now _ !”

“You can’t hold me to things I said when we were teenagers! Life changes! Things change!”

“And when they change, you’re supposed to tell me!”

Robin couldn’t think of an answer. She gritted her teeth and they rode home in silence.


	8. Mini-Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys remember this client? Mini-Me is her son, because he's so much like Strike. The family has been victims of hate crimes.

 

A week had passed since the text messages, but Robin was still edgy. She and Cormoran had both received threats before, it came with the territory. Clients who were angry about results, spouses who were angry about being caught, and the bouquet of paranoid nutters guaranteed with a job working with the public. But this was personal. This person had their numbers, had her wedding photo. And it was a rape threat, something that terrified her to her core. It was like somebody had reached into her gut and pressed on an old bruise, making it throb all over again.

Robin walked up to Mini Me’s house, clearly discernable by the phrase “GO HOME RAG-HEADS” graffitied across their front door. She had finally snapped photos of their neighbor in the act, spray painting the words the previous night. He had skillfully avoided the security cameras that the family had placed on their porch, but Robin had been lying in wait and caught him with a night-vision camera. 

Ishtahar, their client, answered the door beaming.

“Come in!” she said, “Have some tea. Sit. Tell me everything.” 

The house was sparsely furnished, but felt like a home to Robin. The dingy walls were draped with bright fabric and children’s artwork, and it smelled like bread and garlic. Robin felt the tension from the past week slip off her shoulders as Ishtahar prepared the tea. Robin sat on a folding chair and took the photos out of her purse. She spread them out across the table. Ishtahar sat down and looked at them, running her fingers over the glossy images. She pressed her hand to her mouth, tears brimming in her eyes.

“It’s over,” Robin said, “We’ve got him.”

“I didn’t think it would ever stop,” Ishtahar said.

“You can press charges now,” Robin said, “If you would like, Cormoran and I will continue to stake out your house and collect evidence that can be used in court.”

“I don’t want to get police involved,” Ishtahar said, “Maybe if we show him that we have proof he’ll leave us alone.”

“The choice is yours,” Robin said, “We’ll keep working on it, but it’s a start.”

They were interrupted by a high-pitched screech like grating on metal.

They turned to see Yusef in the doorway, a screaming little girl on his hip. The girl had been sleeping during Robin’s previous visits, but today she was thrashing around in Yusef’s arms, red-faced and furious.

“Zizi is angry,” Yusef explained. Zina took the child from her son’s arms and the girl immediately calmed down.

“She just misses mama.” She looked up at Robin. “You haven’t met Zina yet, have you.”

“I haven’t. How old is she?”

“Eleven months.”

Zina put her thumb in her mouth and stared at Robin, tears still quivering on her eyelashes. Robin waved and the girl clenched and unclenched a fat fist in response.

“She was born two days after we arrived here,” Ishtahar explained, “I started having contractions on the airplane. I was so afraid that we wouldn’t get out of Syria in time, and she would be born in the camp. She is the only one in the family who’s actually a citizen.” She looked at Robin. “Do you have any children?”

“No, I don’t,” she said shortly, not wanting to talk about it. “Was Yusef born in the camp?”

Ishtahar nodded.

“My husband and I were struggling in our marriage,” she said, “He was my neighbor, it was arrange by our families. My parents told me that when we started having children our problems would go away, and our bond would be strengthened.”

Robin looked to Yusef, who had taken a box of crayons and was coloring on a piece of paper.

“It didn’t work,” Ishtahar continued, “If anything our fighting got worse. My husband got violent, I ran away. We divorced. Four years later I married my cousin Nassim, and we have worked well together. Having Yusef didn’t fix my marriage. Instead it showed me that I needed to end it. If I hadn’t been so worried about my son, I never would have left. Yusef didn’t save my marriage, but he did save me.”

“My husband wants kids, but I’m not ready,” Robin said. She looked down at her tea, surprised at this sudden sharing.

“It is a difficult decision, especially for women,” Ishtahar said, “Having Yusef gave me power. Before I had him I was very passive. Anybody could take advantage of me, hurt me, use me. When he was born I became a mother, but I also became a warrior. Nobody could hurt my baby. I would fight them first. He was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.” 

Zina started babbling joyful nonsense.

“Here’s what I wish, though,” Ishtahar went on, “I wish that it wasn’t that way. If I had been stronger, braver, more assertive, if I had trusted myself, I never would have stayed with my first husband. Yusef would have been born into a safe, loving home. I would not have gotten hurt.” Ishtahar stared at Robin until Robin had to look away.

“You are already a strong woman, I can see that,” Ishtahar said, “You do not need to become a mother in order to become a warrior. You are already a warrior.”

 


	9. Horrible Bosses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday was thanksgiving, so I didn't post. But I am thankful for all of you guys, your support and your comments. Each one makes me so so happy, you have no idea.

  
  
  
  


“I have a thermos of hot chocolate, a bottle of Jameson, and two tickets to Horrible Bosses, baby!” Coco said. She and Robin had just finished dance class and were heading to a late night movie. Robin had bought a bag of caramel corn earlier, so that they wouldn’t have to pay the exorbitant prices at the theater. She didn’t want to bring the big bag to dance class and had left it at the office, so they were going to stop by the office on their way to the movie, to pick it up.

“You’re making real improvement in class,” Coco said.

“I enjoy it,” Robin said, “It really helps tone my muscles. Not to mention the self-esteem boost. I haven’t felt this comfortable in my own body since… Since I don’t know how long.”

“I couldn’t help but notice today that you hurt your arm. You’re pretty bruised up,” Coco said.

Robin instinctively covered her upper arm with her hand, although the bruise was covered by her sweater.

“It’s nothing,” Robin said, “I got my flu shot today, I guess I was clenching my arm.”

“I got my flu shot too. Course, most people get their flu shots on their shoulder. Besides, flu shots might bruise, but not up and down your entire arm.” She waited a moment, then added, “You know what does look like that?”

“What?”

“Nexplanon.”

Robin froze like a deer in the headlights.

“Is it that obvious?” she asked, her voice tense and anxious.

“No. I only know know cause I got one myself.” Coco looked at Robin from the corner of her eye. “Why does it matter that it's obvious? You're using birth control. It’s not a secret that you’re having sex, you’re married.”

“Well… Matthew wants to start a family.”

“And you don’t.”

Robin shook her head.

“I’m no expert on relationships, by any means, so I’m just going to say this once and let it go,” Coco said, “But wouldn’t it be better to just tell him that? Instead of getting a super secret hormone implant in your arm that you can’t tell him about?”

“It’s complicated,” Robin said.

“Fine. I’ll drop it,” Coco said. “But I do have to know: does Matthew know that you’re taking my classes? I don’t want him to come in guns blazing, thinking that you’re running off on him.”

Robin smiled, grateful for the subject change.

“He knows. He loves it. He likes when I perform for him. He thinks I’m doing it all for him, of course.”

Coco rolled her eyes.

“Of course. They all do. God forbid you take pleasure in your own body, it has to be all for them.”

She paused, considering, then asked, “Speaking of men, Cormoran is single now, right?”

“Yessss, I suppose he is,” Robin said, hesitantly. She had been waiting for this subject to come up at some point.

“You think I could have a chance with him?” Coco asked.

“Oh, you don’t want to be with him,” Robin said, quickly, “You wouldn’t be a compatible couple.”

“How so?”

“He's very... private,” she said, picking her words carefully, “He never says what's on his mind.”

“I could see that in him,” Coco said, “The first time I met him we were getting along grand, and then I looked up and he was gone. Vanished.”

“The only times we've ever really talked about his past one of us has been absolutely shit-faced.”

Coco smirked.

“That sounds kind of sweet,” she said, “Robin and Corm, having drunk confessions.”

She pulled up outside the office.

“I’ll be just a minute,” Robin said.

Inside the office the stairway inside was dark and empty, and her footsteps echoed in the hall. She rummaged around in her purse for her keys.

The man was quiet, she gave him credit for that. The hand darted over her mouth before she could even register what was happening, the fingers of the other hand closing around her throat. His gloved hand smelled like expensive leather and Marlboros.

“This is a warning,” a man’s voice whispered in her ear, “You leave this place and never come back, or I will crush your windpipe for good.” His voice was flat and toneless, like he was reading from a textbook.

Robin shook herself out of her frozen terror and bit down, hard, on her attacker’s gloved hand. She felt her jaw hit bone, and the man screamed and weakened his grip on her throat. Robin swung her fist back between his legs and spun to face him, her hands up in protective stance. The man stumbled forward towards her and she hit him solidly with the heel of her palm, sending him toppling back down the first flight of stairs.

 

Cormoran was lying in bed in his pyjamas, reading Stephen King when he heard the commotion. Skin hitting skin, a shriek, grunts of pain, the thud of somebody falling down the stairs. He lept out of bed and maneuvered his way to the door, which he threw open. Outside on the landing below him, Robin and Coco were carrying a man’s bleeding body up the stairs and into the office. They looked up at him standing there, wild-eyed and one-legged.

“Hello Cormoran,” Coco said, “Care to join us for some chocolate, then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured if this takes place soon after her honeymoon, it would probably be around summer 2011, which was when Horrible Bosses was the hot thing. At least for bored high schoolers, which I was that year.


	10. Hot Chocolate Interrogation

“You’re sure you’re alright,” Cormoran asked for the third time. They had placed Robin’s unconscious attacker on the sofa and were sitting in office chairs and staring at him as if he was a TV screen.

“Yes. He didn’t hurt me in any way.” Robin blew on her mug of hot chocolate and took a sip.

“Jesus, Coco, how much whiskey did you put in here?” she asked.

“Just enough to calm the nerves,” Coco said, “I was planning on having it at the theater. Nothing better than Irish chocolate at the movies.” Coco poured Cormoran a mug of chocolate from a steaming thermos.

They all stared at the man lying on the sofa. He groaned and rolled over.

“Looks like he’s awake,” Robin said, “I hope I didn’t do any major damage.”

The man reached up and touched the back of his head, flinching. 

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” Robin said, “It won’t make it any better. She tossed him a bag of ice, wrapped in a towel. “Keep this on it.”

“Who are you?” the man asked blearily, “Where am I? What’s my name?”

“Don’t play that game,” Strike said, “You don’t have amnesia, you’re fine.”

The man narrowed his eyes at Strike.

“Your girlfriend here just assaulted me,” he said.

“Excuse me?” Robin said, “That’s rich coming from the man who just threatened to crush my windpipe.”

“I didn’t hurt you, though. There’s not a mark on you. I kept  _ my _ end of the deal. I wasn’t supposed to get hurt. That was your end of the deal.”

“The deal?” Robin was baffled by the man’s sincerity and innocence.

“I expect all my medical expenses to be on my bill, you know.”

“Your bill? What bill?” she asked.

“You’re Robin Cunliffe, correct?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And you’re Cormoran Strike?”

Strike just narrowed his eyes and didn’t answer.

“Yes, he is,” Robin answered.

“You two are partners, then, right?” he asked

“Business partners,” Strike said.

Confusion drew across the man’s face.

“You’re not the one who hired me,” he said.

“You’re bloody right I’m not,” Strike growled.

“The man who called me used your name, but he didn’t have your voice,” he said.

“Speaking of names, then,” Robin said, “Let’s have yours.”

“Lance Wielder,” the man said, “I’ll show you my ID. It’s in my pocket. I’m not reaching for a weapon, or anything.”

Strike nodded and the man reached into his pocket and showed them his ID. Lance Wielder, born 1972.

Next to Cormoran, Coco made a noise halfway between a squeak and a snort. Everybody turned to look at her. She was staring at her phone with an open-mouthed grin.

“Don’t google Lance Wielder unless you want to see him wielding his lance, if you know what I mean.” She looked at the man. “So did you change your name to become a porn star, or did your name shape you into the man you are today?”

“The name Howard Jones doesn’t sell many naughty tapes,” he said, “I thought changing it might help me out, but it didn’t. The internet has ruined the porn industry. It’s impossible to make money in pornography when everybody can get it for free. So I had to branch out.”

“To assault?” Robin asked.

“To personal kinks. Facilitating in a role play. Nobody gets hurt, it’s all consensual.”

“Like fuck it is,” Robin said, “When did I ever consent to this?” 

“I talked to you on the phone, didn’t I?”

“If you mean those threatening text messages-”

“What? No! I called you, confirmed the details, you said that it was good to go.”

“I most certainly did not!”

Cormoran considered touching her shoulder, than thought against it and rested his hand on the back of her chair. She felt his presence there and relaxed slightly.

“Why don’t you start at the beginning,” Cormoran said.

“Last week Mister Strike-” Lance looked at Strike’s expression and doubled back, “A man pretending to be Mister Strike called me and told me that he and his girlfriend Robin wanted to hire me for a very specific role-play. He told me that she was an adrenaline junky who got off on being attacked. I told him that I never hurt anybody, which he said was good. He didn’t want her to get hurt, he just wanted to bring her heart rate up. He made it very clear that she wanted it to be a surprise attack. She didn’t want to see my face beforehand. However, being the professional that I am,” Robin rolled her eyes, “I couldn’t just attack her without her consent. So I gave him two consent forms, which were returned with two signatures. Then, to be doubly sure, I called up the number on one of the forms and talked to a woman whom I thought to be Miss Cunliffe here.” He nodded to Robin. “She was excited, so I went for it.”

“Do you still have the numbers?” Cormoran asked.

“Sure.” Lance took his phone out of his pocket and searched through his call history. “Here.”

Robin dialed.

“Disconnected. My guess is the other one is the same,” she said, but dialed anyways.

“Can you describe their voices?” Cormoran asked.

“The man had a very high voice, a little nasal, but hoarse, like he’d been yelling. The girl was normal sounding, nothing strange about her.”

“Any accent? Southern? Northern? Cockney? Anything like that?”

“Maybe a bit posh. She sounded like this one, that’s why I was so confused.”

Robin hung up the phone, discouraged.

“Both phones have been disconnected. Probably disposable.”

“Christ, this is like an episode of CSI, then, isn’t it,” Coco said. 

“How did you know I was coming here?” Robin said, “Even if you knew I was going to a movie, it was hardly common knowledge that I’d left popcorn here.”

“Popcorn? I don’t know anything about a movie. I got a text message this morning, saying that you were going to the office for a sexy rendezvous tonight at eight thirty.” Lance sat up and leaned forward earnestly. “Look,” he said, “I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t mean to. I would never hurt anybody. And you didn’t mean to hurt me, you were just acting in what you thought was self defense. Can we just let this go without contacting the police? I really can’t afford any bad publicity right now.”

Robin and Cormoran looked at each other. Cormoran’s first instinct was to prosecute the man to the fullest extent of the law, and then maybe a little bit more than the law allowed. But something about Robin’s expression stopped him. He couldn’t place it at first, then realized what it was. She was scared. Not scared of Lance Wielder, not scared of whoever hired him. She was scared of the police. She was afraid of being questioned, of being accused, of having the cold hands of the law pry into her sexual proclivities. Cormoran felt the overwhelming need to protect her, to make sure that nothing bad would ever happen to her again. At the same time he saw her for what she was: the woman who could push an attacker down a flight of stairs and then carry him into her office to interrogate him. Cormoran couldn’t wrap her mind around her, this strange, powerful force of nature who had crashed into his upside-down life and turned it rightside up again. He felt like he was looking at something beyond his control, beyond his comprehension, like a supernova or the flash of a heartbeat on an ultrasound.

“I think we can agree on that,” Robin said, “As long as you keep in touch. I want to know if you get contacted again, and I might have more questions later.”

“Can you walk alright?” Coco asked, gesturing between his legs, “She nailed you pretty fucking hard.”

Lance stood up gingerly, then nodded.

“I’ll live,” he said, “It’s no worse than working an eight hour film shoot.”

The room collectively grimaced. 

After he left, Robin let out a shaky sigh.

“I believe him,” she said, “But I wish I didn’t.” She turned to Coco. “Sorry about movie night.”

“Are you kidding?” Coco said, “That was more exciting than any movie.” She realized what she’d said and backtracked. “I’m sorry, that was callous. I wasn’t the one who was attacked.”

“No, you’re fine. I just- I just need to calm down. Adrenaline. I’ll be back.” She walked to the toilet and they let her go.

Cormoran and Coco sat back in their seats, still shell-shocked from the events of the evening.

“Jesus, that was something,” Coco said. 

Cormoran grunted in agreement.

“She likes you, you know,” Coco went on, “More than she’s willing to admit.” 

Strike raised his eyebrows skeptically.

“It’s true,” she said, “I asked if I should ask you out and she nearly swallowed her own tongue saying that we’d be a terrible couple.”

“She’s right about that.”

“Oh believe me, I know. I let that ship sail a long time ago.”

“Sorry.”

“Nah, we’re both better off as it is.” Coco took a long sip of hot chocolate. “She wants you to talk to her,” she said. Cormoran raised a bewildered eyebrow. 

“Not right now,” Coco explained, “I mean in general. She likes when you talk to her.”

“Talk? Why? What about?”

Coco laughed. 

“Don't look so terrified. Not about anything in particular. Just, you know, more openness. Your life, your feelings.”

Cormorans confusion only grew. 

“She told you this, then?” he asked. 

“Well, not exactly. She implied it.”

Strike gave her a look.

“Whatever,” Coco said, throwing up her hands, “I’m just giving my advice. I know you like her, and I think you two would be wonderful together.”

“She's married for Chrissakes.”

“Happily?”

“I'm her work partner. That's not my place to know.”

“You're her friend. You can't deny that at least.”

Strike sighed. 

“Alright. We're friends.”

“Friends talk to each other.” 

“I'm not the only private one, you know. She's not exactly chatty either.”

“Jaysus you're just two peas in a fucking pod, aren't you. You’re hopeless. Both of you. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go check on her.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's short. I wrote five chapters before I started publishing any, so that I could stay at a steady pace. SURPRISE! Life is complicated, especially at the holidays. So I'm stretching it out a bit, but hopefully I can keep it up.

Robin answered Coco’s knock, red faced and dripping.

“Cold water helps with adrenaline,” she explained, “I put my face under the faucet.”

“Are you okay?” Coco asked.

“Yes, I’m fine. Feeling better. Not as shaky.” She looked at her watch. “Listen, you go on home. I need to discuss some things with Corm. I’ll get a cab.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.”

 

Robin came back into the room, holding her elbows.

“You sent Coco home?” Cormoran asked.

“Yeah. I told her that I had to discuss things with you, but really I just couldn’t put up with her chattering and fussing all the way home. I adore her, really, but right now…”  _ Right now I just want to see you,  _ she finished in her head.

“I know, she’s a handful. Especially after something like that.” 

Robin sat heavily on the couch. 

“You still jittery?” Cormoran asked.

Robin grinned and held up a hand to show how it was still trembling. 

“My body hasn’t gotten the message that I’m safe yet.” She let out a deep breath. “He didn’t want to hurt me,” she said, “That’s strange to me. Whoever hired this fool to attack me didn’t want me to get hurt. They just wanted to scare me.”

“Fits with our theory that somebody has an unhealthy obsession with you.”

“How flattering,” Robin said dryly.

“What surprises me is the woman’s voice,” Cormoran said, “This is bigger than one person. Somebody managed to convince a woman to help him.”

“Or it’s been a woman from the start, and she convinced a man to help her. Stranger things have happened.”

“True. Women can be just at batshit crazy and violent as men. But something about this seems masculine.”

“I agree,” Robin sighed, “What do we know about this person?”

“He has money. He could hire a specialized sex worker.”

“He knows my schedule.”

“He has a hoarse, high, nasal voice.”

Robin’s eyes suddenly widened, then dropped to her lap. She shifted in her seat.

“You look like you just thought of something,” Cormoran said.

“I did, but I don’t want to tell you and get you all panicked over a ghost.”

“What ghost?” he asked, fully knowing the answer. Strike could only think of one situation that made Robin so hesitant and quiet.

“It's just- that's what Garret Chappelle’s voice sounded like. In court.”

“Alright. What do we know about Garret Chappelle?”

“He was recently transferred to Kennet Prison. That’s all I know.”

“Look, Robin, we can’t ignore this anymore. When it was just some messages, fine. But this was a physical attack. Even if he didn’t hurt you physically, it’s still dangerous.” He held up his hand before Robin could argue. “I’m not your boss so I can’t tell you to go home, and I can’t assign you to easy dead-end cases.”

“No, you can’t.” Robin met his gaze with a challenge.

“But as your friend, as somebody who cares about you deeply-” He looked down at him mug.  _ Where did that come from? _ “I can say that I’m worried about you and and that I wish you would stay home, where it’s safe.”

Robin was smiling, a bit pink in the face.

“You know me,” she said, “You know I’m not going to do that.”

“I know you.” He leaned forward. “You don’t have to stay on the sidelines, okay? You don’t have to stay at home, you don’t have to stay in the office like a secretary. But promise me this.” He was staring at her with an intensity that was not helping Robin’s jitters. “Promise me that you’ll stay my partner in this. Promise that you won’t go off on your own to catch this guy. That you’ll let me help.”

Robin held out her hand.

“I promise.”

He shook her hand, holding it for just a moment too long, and just a moment too short.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma HA! Betcha didn't see THAT coming!


	12. Work

Matthew was sitting on the couch when Robin got home.

“You’re still up,” she said, surprised.

“I just feel like I haven’t seen you all day, and I guess I sort of… missed you.”

Robin was touched, and sat down next to him on the sofa. 

“I sort of missed you too,” she said, “Sort of a lot.”

“Yeah? How was the movie?”

Robin looked down at her feet.

“Well, we never actually got to the movie.”

She started telling Matthew the story, avoiding the part where Strike supposedly hired Mr. Wielder. As she talked, the exhaustion and fear of the evening fell onto her shoulders, and she found herself desperately wanting to sink into a hot bath, put on her flannel shark pajamas, and go to sleep. Every word she said added to the weight on her chest until she felt like she might collapse from fatigue. 

“...Then he apologized and we agreed not to press charges, and he left. He promised to keep in touch, though,” Robin finished. She finally looked up from her feet to see Matthew slowly shaking his head in shock.

“I don’t know what to say to that,” he said.

“I know,” Robin said, “Don’t say anything.” She leaned forward until her forehead was touching his shoulder. She breathed in his sharp pine scent. “Just hold me.”

Matthew wrapped her close, scooting down further on the couch so that she could lie on his chest. She closed her eyes and listened to the steady thumping of his heartbeat, and felt his chest move up and down with his breath.

“You fought him off?” Matthew finally said.

“Yeah.”

“With your bare hands.”

“Yeah.”

“A full grown man.”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Well… Sort of.”

“I told you I’ve taken self defense.”

“‘Highly commended,’ right, I forgot.” He pulled her closer. “You’re my little ninja.”

Robin was tired and comfortable. She buried herself deeper into his chest and let the warmth and security sink over her.

 

“Morning babe,” Robin said.

Robin was just packing her lunch when Matthew got out of the shower.

“What are you up so early for?” he asked. 

“Not early, it’s seven forty-five,” she said.

“Yeah, but... You’re not going  _ back _ , are you?”

“Not to the office,” she said. Matthew’s worried face relaxed. She went on, “We have a new case, an alimony dispute. A woman thinks her ex has got another job that he’s not telling the lawyers about. I’ll be out and about all day.”

“Robin, you can’t go back to that job,” Matthew said.

“I’m going to steer clear a couple days, okay? The police are taking my statement today, and Strike is going to keep an eye out, I’ll be fine.”

“It’s too dangerous, Robin! You can’t go out!”

Robin walked up to Matthew and stared him straight in the eye. She put her hands on his shoulders.

“Matthew,” she said solemnly, “Do you trust me?”

“This isn’t about-”

“Do you trust me?” she asked.

“Yes, but-”

“Okay.” She kissed him quickly, then gave him a light finger-wave. “Have a good day at work, honey.” Then she was out the door.

  
  


Robin expected the day to be a long one. Their client was an eccentric actress who believed her ex husband had taken work as a freelance editor despite his claims that he couldn’t afford to pay alimony. Robin followed the ex-husband to a sleek new ad firm, photographed him entering, then emptied the contents of her wallet into her purse. She waited several minutes before going in after him.

There was a young secretary at the front desk, looking bored out of her skull.

“Excuse me,” Robin said, “Does a man named Carl Mendler work here?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t disclose that information,” the secretary said.

Robin sighed. “Well, shoot,” she said, “I found his wallet outside. It has all his cards and everything.” She held up her own wallet, an old battered thing that she’d gotten as a high school graduation gift nine years earlier. “I just don’t know where to take it.”

The secretary looked torn, then said, “Why don’t you leave it with me and I’ll give to to him when he comes down for lunch.”

“So he is here then? I mean I don’t want to just leave it anywhere.”

“Yes, he’ll be down soon.”

“Thank you very much.”

Robin smiled to herself as she left the office, proud of a job well done. She would have just enough time to get a new wallet before meeting Strike and Wardle for lunch.


	13. Wardle and Chan

Robin and Cormoran filled Wardle in over Dim Sum. Cormoran let Robin take the lead, for which she was grateful. She didn’t want the conversation to move towards her sex life or preferences, and she left out all mention of Garett Chapelle. If Strike noticed this he made no outward indication, he just tucked into his dumplings without a word.

Wardle asked questions and Robin tried not to get tense. She had never felt completely comfortable around Wardle, and was glad that Cormoran was there. She gave Wardle the list that she had made, and the phone numbers that had called Lance Wielder, but, according to her agreement with Lance, she kept his name anonymous.

“I promised him that I wouldn’t get the police involved,” she said, “I would like to uphold that promise. I have his phone number, and I can ask him any questions you might have and relay the answers to him.”

“Robin, you know I’d prefer-” Wardle started.

“I know. But that’s the way that this is going to go.”

Strike tried not to smile at Wardle’s pinched expression. Wardle sighed.

“Look, I’ll do what I can. But really, there’s not much I can do. It’s a threat from a restricted number, phone calls from disconnected phones. The only crime committed so far has been vague threats and identity theft when the woman impersonated you. The only violence so far has been committed by you.”

“In self defense!”

“You made that clear. I understand that you’re upset, but there’s only so much that we can do. You get that, right?”

Robin nodded. Wardle softened slightly.

“But I will do what I can. Everything I can. Be sure to keep in touch with any new development.” 

“I will. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to use the ladies’.”

Strike watched her leave, then turned to Wardle.

“Look,” Strike said, “Do you have any contacts at Kennet Prison?”

Wardle looked surprised at Strike’s sudden intensity.

“Kennet? Sure, I think I know a guy. Why?”

“A personal matter. I need to speak to him. Just send me his contact information. And do it quietly.”

  
  


Her lawyer had been Jonathan Chan, a quiet, somber man who looked like he’d been born in a suit and tie. He’d been soft-spoken and almost shy until he got in front of the jury. Then he spoke with a conviction and confidence that made the sneering, brash defense attorney look like a Disney villain.

“Doctor Jonathan Chan’s Office, how can I help you?” 

Doctor Chan hadn’t had a secretary when Robin had known him. She was glad he was doing well for himself.

“Yes, hello, my name is Robin Cunliffe, I was a client of Doctor Chan’s a long time ago and I was wondering if I could speak to him about my case. He knew me when I was Robin Ellacott.”

“One moment, please.”

Robin had spent years trying to wipe Garret Chapelle out of her memory. She had tried meditation, exercise, sleep, fast cars, bad television, three different therapists, and four different support groups. She still had trouble going a day without some memory of the incident, though most of the time it was a fleeting, mostly painless acknowledgement. 

Now, after all the effort to forget, she found herself intentionally trying to remember. What had he said? What language had he used? Where was he sent? She took out her memories carefully and examined then from behind the safe lens of her work. She wasn’t reliving her own trauma, she was simply investigating a case. Nothing more. 

“Chan speaking.”

Robin was immediately transported back to the courtroom. The hard wooden seats, the smell of floor polish and old fabric, the light that edged its way across the floor, and her lawyer’s voice, pushing her quietly to repeat again what happened that night.

“Doctor Chan, my name is Robin Cunliffe, you were my barrister a long time ago. Back when I was Robin Ellacott.”

“Miss Ellacott, of course. I’ve read about your work as a private investigator. The Lula Landry case. Fascinating.”

“I’m surprised that you remembered me,” she said, somewhat taken aback.

“I remember all my cases,” he said, “Although yours always stands out somewhat. You were remarkably observant. I’m not surprised you became a detective.”

Robin was buoyed by the unexpected compliment and pushed on.

“There’s a new case that I’m working on, actually, and I have a bit of a strange request. I need a recording of Garret Chapelle’s voice.”

Doctor Chan was quiet for several moments, then asked,

“May I ask what for?”

“A man has been hiring people to harass me, and I’d like to play them his voice to see if they can recognize it.”

“I’m sorry that’s happening to you. Well, as you know, there’s no recording devices allowed in a courtroom. But I believe I might have something. Chapelle called me shortly after being sent to prison, threatening to kill me. I recorded the call as a precautionary measure in case I needed it in the future. It will take some digging, but I believe I know where it is. I’ll mail you the tape when I find it.”

“Thank you.”

Robin gave him the address of the office and hung up. She took several deep breaths. Her mind felt calm and cool, but when she looked down her hands were shaking.


	14. The Burner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the duplicate chapter, I've fixed it.   
> Short and sweet tonight, chugging the plot along.

Strike looked down at the blinking answering machine and swore under his breath. He and Robin were so often out of the office it was beginning to take a toll on their caseload. He sat down heavily in Robin’s chair and began to play through the messages. A man thought his wife was cheating, a woman thought her husband had a mistress, a man thought his mistress was seeing another man… 

The phone rang and Strike answered immediately.

“Cunliffe and Strike, Strike speaking.”

“Mister Strike? My name is Carl Clemento. I was told by my friend Detective Wardle that you have some questions.”

“Yes, I have reason to believe that one of your prisoners has been harassing my partner over the phone. I’m willing to reimburse you for any information you could contribute.”

There was a silence on the other end of the line.

“Why don’t you describe the supervision of phone calls?”

“There are ten telephones in the prison, which can be used during recreational times. Each inmate gets an hour a week on the phone. All of the prison phone conversations are recorded and closely monitored.”

“Is the recipient of the call told that it’s coming from a prison phone?”

“Yes, and they’re given the choice to accept or decline.”

“How easy would it be to sneak a cellphone in there?”

“Very difficult. We are a class C prison, so our security is slightly more relaxed, but visitors still undergo rigorous searches and an X-ray scan.”

“How does money work in Kennet?”

“You have money put into your commissary account by family. This can only be spent on goods at the commissary.”

“So if they were to pay somebody outside of the prison-”

“Couldn’t be done. They have no control over their personal accounts.” Carl Clemento sighed. “Listen,” he said, “I know you want this guy to be a Kennet inmate, but I’m telling you it’s not. It couldn’t be done.”

“If-”

“Thank you for your time, Mister Strike. I don’t need any payment.”

The man hung up.

Strike thought a moment, then dialed Shanker.

“Bunsen!” Shanker said.

“Hiya Shanker. Is this a good time?”

“Wouldn’t have picked up is it wasn’t, would I?”

“Listen, do you know anything about Kennet prison?”

“Sure, I know about every prison. Never actually called Kennet home, but I’ve visited.”

“How easy would it be to sneak a disposable phone in there?”

“Into Kennet? Depends on who you know. Anything’s easy if you know a guard. But then guards are hard to drill into. Kennet is pretty low security compared to others. Still do a full scan and X-rays and no bags allowed. Don’t have to talk through a wall, you get a table for visits, but no touching allowed. An amature couldn’t do it, but a professional like me, sure. Why? You got a boyfriend there?”

“They like big guys like me.”

Shanker laughed.

“You gonna get me a date with Goldie Locks now?”

“She’s still married.”  _ And you’d be the last in line if she wasn’t. _

“I don’t do nothin for free, you know.”

“I know. I owe you, you know I do.”

Strike hung up, contemplating his next move. 


	15. The Tape

 

Strike stumped down the stairs and paused outside the office door. Robin was inside and she was crying. Her sobs were thin and high and cut through the air and into Cormoran’s chest.

He, his hand on the doorknob, not wanting to intrude on a personal moment. Then he heard another voice.

“ _ I am going to strangle you with my bare hands...” _

Strike felt like a strobe light went off inside of him, terror and rage battling for control over his mind. Without thinking he crashed open the door ready to rip somebody apart limb from limb. The room was empty except for Robin, who was staring up at him in shock. She was holding an old walkman.

“ _...I am going to kill you for what you did to me…”  _ The voice was coming from the cassette player in her hand.

“Robin, what-- Are you okay?”

Robin hastily wiped the tears off her face.

“Yes, I’m fine. My old lawyer just sent me a recording of Chapelle’s voice. I’m going to play it for Lance Wielder to see if he could make a match.”

“Good thinking,” Strike said, “Jesus you scared me. I thought you were being attacked.”

Robin chuckled, then sniffed thickly.

“I guess it was just difficult, hearing his voice again.”

“Fuck, yeah, of course. Jesus. You need a pint or something after that?”

“Just some of Coco’s hot chocolate.”

Strike considered asking her if she needed some time, then thought better of it. If she needed time she would take it. Pity was the last thing she wanted.

There was a knock at the door and they both jumped. Lance Wielder popped his head around the door with a sheepish grin.

“Cheerio,” he said, “I hope this is a good time.”

“Yes, of course, come in,” Robin said. 

Lance was tall and lanky, with spiked 90s hair and a nervous smile. Strike desperately wanted to hate him, but there was something inherently likeable about the man.

“I’m not going to take up too much of your time,” she said, “I was hoping you could listen to this tape and tell me if it was the same man who contacted you on the phone.”

“Sounds good,” Lance said eagerly, “I’ll help in any way that I can.”

Robin pressed rewind, then play.

“ _ You have received a call from Whitemoore Prison. To accept this call, press one,”  _ a cool robotic voice said. Then a beep and Doctor Chan’s voice saying hello. “ _ Doctor Chan, as soon as I get out of here I am going to hunt you down and kill you. I will hurt everyone you love.”  _ Robin’s face was white, and she was biting her lips, but she maintained composure. Strike wondered how many times she had listened to the tape before she was able to sit through it without any show of emotion.

“ _ I am going to strangle you with my bare hands. I am going to kill you for what you did to me.” _

Robin hit pause. 

“That could definitely be him,” lance said. “Sounds a bit like Donald Trump, doesn't he? Yes, that could be him.”

“You're sure.”

“Play it again?”

Robin braced herself, hit rewind, and replayed the tape.

“ _ Doctor Chan, as soon as I get out of here I am going to hunt you down and kill you.” _

“Yes, that’s him,” Lance said, “For sure.”

Robin hit pause.

“Thank you. That’s very helpful.”

“That’s all you needed?” Lance said.

“Yes, you can go. Thanks for coming by.”

Lance stood, then paused.

“Look, I want you to know that I’ve quit the business.”

“Really!” Robin was surprised.

“Yeah, getting your fist to the testicles was really the final push I needed. I got a job as a waiter at Clos Maggiore.”

This time it was Strike who was surprised.

“Clos Maggiore? Jesus, that’s not bad.”

“No, it’s a nice place. It’s a good fit. And it’s all thanks to you. I needed that wake up call.” 

“Any time,” Robin said.

“And listen, one last thing,” Lance said, “Your friend, with the purple hair…”

“Yes?” 

“Would you tell her that, um, I say hi?” He twisted his fingers around. Robin smiled slightly in spite of everything. A man who had been with innumerable women on camera was suddenly completely disarmed having to face one in real life.

“I will,” she said.

“Thanks.”

After he left Robin sighed and ran her hands over her eyes. Strike got up to make them both tea.

“Biscuit?” he asked.

“You read my mind.”

They kept a box of biscuits in the cabinet for consoling the victims of cheating lovers. Strike took it down and handed it to Robin.

“So it’s Garrett Chappelle. What do we do now?” Robin asked.

“ _ I’m  _ going to Kennet Prison. But you’re-”

“I’m going to drive, is what I’m going to do,” Robin said.

“Robin, you don’t have to prove anything-”

“The train is expensive, and so is renting cars. We’ll take the Land Rover.”

“Nobody will think any less of you if-”

“We can leave on Tuesday, be back Wednesday. Ishtahar can watch the office.”

“Robin, just  _ listen _ , okay?”

Robin narrowed her eyes at him, but listened.

“I was in an explosion that blew off my leg,” Strike said. Robin raised an eyebrow at the sudden subject change.

“Yes?”

“I survived it. It’s been ages, and I’m doing well. I have a job I love, a life, friends. I think about my leg, sure, but never about the people who bombed me. I’m over it. I’ve moved on.”

“Right.”

“But I’m not about to go to Afghanistan and relive the whole thing. It just wouldn’t be good for me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not going to Afghanistan. I’m not even going back to the scene of the crime. I’m just driving you to Kennet. I won’t go see him. I’m just your chauffeur.” She stared at him with a level gaze. “So get upstairs and start packing your bag for Tuesday. We’re going on a road trip.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GET READY FOR SOME ANGSTY ROAD TRIP FUN!! We all know that's where the good shit goes down. You guys are the best, I love your support, it means so much.


	16. Wildest Fantasies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some mild naughtiness in here.

Robin came home to the sound of Matthew banging pots and pans in the kitchen. This was unusual. He usually insisted that he was a terrible cook and having Robin make dinner was the more merciful decision for both of them. Tonight, though, something smelled wonderful. She walked into the kitchen to find Matthew in an apron, pulling a pan of roasted salmon out of the oven. 

“Matthew,” she said, delighted, “What’s this?”

“I made roast salmon and barley,” he said, looking like a puppy who’d just learned a new trick.

“It smells wonderful,” Robin said, sitting at the table, “ _ You’re _ wonderful. Where did you learn to do this?”

“I looked it up online. Salmon and whole grains are supposed to help women’s health.”

Robin was touched to her core.

“That’s very sweet of you. Thank you. This is a wonderful surprise. Just what I needed.”

“How was work today?” Matthew asked.

“Oh, a little difficult. I’ve been on edge lately with the threatening messages.”

“Understandable. I’ve been on edge, and they’re not even directed at me.”

“Yes, well, I’m going on an overnight trip next week for a case. It will be good for me to get out of town for a bit, considering events of late.”

“Where to?”

“Kennet. Won’t be gone for more than two nights at the latest, depending on how the case goes. We’re leaving on Tuesday.”

Matthew hummed and continued eating. It was a truly excellent dinner.

“You seem very relaxed about this,” Robin said, “I’m glad.”

“I’m not happy about it,” he said, “But if we keep on arguing about it every time you go out of town we’ll never stop fighting.”

“Well, I appreciate your effort,” Robin said, “I really mean that.”

“Yes, well, just remember that you said ‘I do’ to me, not him.”

Robin flushed.

“Of course, Matthew. What do you take me for?”

“I take you for my wife. I just don’t want you forgetting that when you’re cooped up in a coastal hotel room.”

“I would  _ never _ be unfaithful to you, Matthew. Not ever. I would never even  _ think _ about it.”

This was true. She had, of course, thought about her and Cormoran. Everybody already suspected them of it, how could she not? But she never allowed the image to get past the distant outskirts of imagination, in a world where Matthew had never existed. There was the occasional naughty dream, of course, but dreams didn’t mean anything. She’d had naughty dreams about James Cameron, and Sully from Monsters Inc, and she certainly wasn’t attracted to them. Dreams didn’t count.

“I’m sorry,” Matthew sighed, “I trust you. I just worry sometimes. You’re a beautiful woman.”

“You don’t have to worry, Matthew. I can take protect myself.”

“You shouldn’t  _ have _ to protect yourself.”

Robin stared at her salmon and didn’t know how to answer.

 

Robin had struggled with sex ever since her assault. She had just been discovering her own sexuality when Garrett Chappell ripped it to shreds, and often felt like something inside her had been permanently crippled. After years of work she was able to enjoy sex again, sometimes even seeking it out on her own. But it never held the same draw for her as it did for others. She enjoyed sex in the same way she enjoyed classical music or cocktails. It was good at specific times and moods, tolerable most of the time, and occasionally unbearable. Matthew was an attentive lover. He made a point of making her orgasm, and took pride in his skill. Sometimes he took too much pride in this and would get sulky if she didn’t come, or would push her body for too long, trying to draw more pleasure out of her than she had.

She laid back on the bed and looked at the ceiling as Matthew went to work on her. She loved him, and she loved being close to him. She loved feeling his skin, and the feeling of emotional bareness and intimacy that came with sex. The only thing she didn’t love was the feeling of sex itself. She was sure that most people didn’t feel the same thing that she did, the raw scraping stretching feeling that put her teeth on edge. And there were times when she did like it, when she came multiple times without much work. She knew all about consent, what it was and wasn’t, and she wasn’t doing anything that she didn’t want to. She was sure about that. She knew that the minute she said no he would stop, with no hard feelings or resentment. She  _ wanted _ to have sex with Matthew. She just didn’t always enjoy it while it was happening. 

She looked at the ceiling as Matthew ran his hands up and down her thighs, kissing his way up the inside of her knee. She wondered if she could fake it properly enough to fool him, and get an early night’s sleep. 

Suddenly, unbidden, the image of Cormoran came to her mind. Cormoran’s eyes, the way they creased when he smiled, the way he squinted when he concentrated, the way he looked at her when she’d extracted a particularly difficult bit of information on a case. Then she was imagining how it would feel if Cormoran’s calloused fingers were stroking inside her instead of Matthew’s smooth soft ones, how it would be different if it was Cormoran’s rough jaw skimming her thigh, Cormoran’s mouth and lips and tongue…

Her orgasm hit like thunder and lightning, she cried out and dug her fingers into the sheets, shaking all over, whimpering, cursing. Matthew continued to work her through it until her breath returned and she went limp. He looked up at her from between her legs with a self-satisfied expression.

That night Robin curled up in his arms and felt like she was drifting in space, cold and dark, a million miles away from all life.


	17. At Last

Robin spent the next three days trying to forget that Friday night had been anything out of the ordinary. She cleaned the toilet, payed the bills, vacuumed, got groceries. She went to her dance class and got drinks with the girls. On Sunday night she and Matthew went out to dinner and a movie. She spent Monday tailing a cheating husband and didn’t see Cormoran at all, to her great relief. 

Monday night she booked them two separate rooms in a hotel in Kennet and hoped that they were very far apart. She decided to book them under the name Hall. Mister and Miss Hall. Not Missus. They were siblings. Nothing more. Siblings in town to see family.

They decided that they would leave around one, get dinner in Kennet, and Strike would go to the prison early the next morning. Prison visits were tricky things, full of bureaucracy and last minute changes, so Strike wanted to set aside a full day just in case.

Robin spent the morning making sure that Ishtahar was settled in, although she needn’t have worried. Ishtahar had been a secretary at a hospital as a young woman and needed very little help.

 

Robin was tense and quiet as they took off, swearing under her breath at other drivers and not letting anybody into her lane. Strike attributed this to the sudden rehashing of dark memories and let it go.

As they got out of the city Robin started relaxing incrementally. The countryside reminded her of her childhood, times before Matthew and Chappelle and Cormoran, before the complications of love and sex and brokenness. It was a beautiful day, like something from a cartoon, with blue sky and puffy white clouds, just starting to get cold. She turned on the radio to an oldies station. She loved this; driving fast over open highways with loud music going. It made her feel like she was in a Spaghetti Western, the lone cowboy on the road, no obligations, no expectations.

The song finished and suddenly Etta James’s voice came through the speakers.

_ “At last…  _ _ My love has come along…” _

Robin smiled.

“This was the first dance song at my wedding,” she said.

“I know,” Strike said, “I was there.” He had excused himself to the bathroom during their first dance, preferring not to watch, but the song had reverberated through the building.

_ At last... The skies above are blue… _

“It had great significance for me,” Robin said, “It was always my favorite when I was little.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. My uncle had a farm, and in order to make ends meet he rented out his land for weddings and such. It was quite successful. We went there quite a lot, and there was always a wedding going on. We were supposed to stay away from the parties, but of course I would sneak around, hiding under tables and looking through windows and hidey-holes and such.”

Strike smiled at the image of a young Robin crashing weddings.

“I loved it,” she went on, “The beautiful dresses, the cake, the romance, the music. It was beautiful. And they always played that song. To me it was just the most beautiful, romantic song in the world.” She sighed thoughtfully. “Everybody always told me that your wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of your life. The pinnacle of joy.”

She fell quiet. Strike watched her, the way that the sun from the car window turned her wispy hairs into a white halo around her face, the way she pouted when she was deep in thought, the freckles on the shell of her ear.

_ I found a thrill to press my cheek to… _

“And was it?”

“What?”

“Was your wedding all of those things?”

Robin smiled.

_ A thrill I've never known… _

“Yes. It was.”


	18. Playing With Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's short tonight, life is friggin cray. I adore you all, your comments and support. It lifts me every day.

Kennet was the kind of small town that made everybody nostalgic for a childhood they never had, with little shops and brisk country breezes and pubs that held weekly bingo nights. Their hotel was a sweet place, little more than a country house with a peaked roof and dark wood paneling, sitting above a restaurant. 

Robin was glad that to see that their rooms were on opposite ends of a long pink hallway, although she couldn’t exactly voice why this was a relief. 

After checking in they agreed to meet downstairs for dinner in fifteen minutes and went to their separate rooms. Robin sat on the bed and felt hopeful about their work relationship for the first time in three days. Maybe she could get through the weekend without crossing any professional boundaries. 

When she went down to the restaurant, though, her heart sank. The restaurant was dimly lit, with a live jazz band playing a slow sultry song at one end. Each table had a white tablecloth and three candles in tall glass votives. What was supposed to be a casual night discussing a case had suddenly grown distinctly romantic undertones. Strike held up two fingers and the host led them to a table in the back.

Robin sat stiffly, not quite knowing what to do with herself. She ordered a caesar salad and Cormoran got a burger and chips. Robin was silent as they waited for their food, picking at a hangnail and trying not to turn red. The waiter brought their dinners with a bowl of hard dry bread. Robin picked at her salad, trying to ignore how sweaty her hands were. 

“Care for some toast?” Strike asked. Robin looked confused. Cormoran set a slice of stale bread on top of the votive candle.

“Et voila. Toast.”

Robin snorted.

“I should have brought some marshmallows, we could have had a proper camp-out,” she said.

Strike flipped the bread over to toast the other side.

“Perfect,” he said, “You want me to put one on for you?”

“Sure,” she said. Her resistance was cracking, and she couldn’t help but grin.

He tried to balance a slice of bread on top of another votive but it slipped off the edge and fell into the flame.

“Shit!”

“Get it out!”

“Fuck, my hand is too big. Why are these glass jars so fucking tall.”

A flame licked up the side of the bread.

“It’s on fire!” Robin tried to blow on it but was giggling too hard. The bread was now blazing.

“What did they do, soak their rolls in petrol?”

Strike dumped his water on the candle, drenching the tablecloth but quenching the flames.

“The waiter is coming back!” Robin hissed between bursts of giggles.

Strike quickly pulled the votive onto his lap.

“Is everything alright?” the waiter said.

“Yes, fine,” Strike said, “I just foolishly spilled my water.”

“I’ll refill that for you,” the waiter said, and left.

“We’re going to have to leave a massive tip,” Robin whispered.

“I know.”

They both looked at the two remaining candles. Strike looked down at his chips.

“I wonder how long a chip would burn for,” he said.

 


	19. Other Robin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit angsty here, drawing from my own old high school diaries for reference, so we know it's dramatic as fuuuuuckkkk. But it's gonna get happier, don't worry. Just like reality.

 

They met for a complimentary breakfast the next morning to strategize. 

“Alright, you’re the psychologist,” Cormoran said, “What’s your take on this fucker?”

“To be honest I haven’t thought about it at all. Why he did what he did, or what was going through his head. I guess I didn’t want to give him any excuses. I didn’t want to think of him as ill or troubled or anything like that. I just wanted to hate him.”

“Understandable.” 

“But I have read research on serial rapists as a general group,” she pushed on, “The most common type of serial rapist is the reassurance seeker, who is motivated by deep insecurity. He wants the sex to be consensual, in his fantasies, but for whatever reason he can’t do that.” She was slowly tearing her danish into tiny pieces. “I don’t think Chappelle was like this. Those guys often hug or kiss their victims, but he…” She hadn’t talked about the event this much since the trial, not even in therapy.

“Robin,” Strike said, “You’re okay.”

Robin took a deep breath.

“I know. I know I am.” She smiled at him as if to prove how okay she was, though it didn’t reach her eyes and fooled nobody. “There’s also the power-seeking rapist, who believes that women owe him sex. Very masculine and domineering. Mike Tyson was the prime example for this type.”

“So talk to him on a man-to-man basis.”

“Yes. Sympathize with him.” She bit into her danish bitterly. “Tell him what a good fucking job he did.”

“Robin…”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I like to think I’m over it, but-”

“You don’t need to apologize. You can be over it and still be angry. It’s understandable.” He sighed. “I’ve done a lot of hard things. Dealt with mass murderers and war criminals and torturers. But I swear, not decking this guy in the face is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

She looked down at her hands and he bent his head to hold her gaze.

“As soon as I finish there, we’re going home. We’re not going to waste any unnecessary time here. Okay? I’ll come back here and we’ll get the hell out of Dodge.”

 

Robin dropped Strike off outside Kennet Prison at ten, then drove around the town for a bit. She window shopped and got coffee at a little bakery. Then she called her dad and listened to him talk about their new bathroom remodel in his steady, deep voice, and it calmed her. 

She was feeling better about things when she saw a group of girls from the local University walk by. They were laughing, arms about each other, bags of back-to-school shopping in their arms, talking about how they were going to decorate their rooms.

“I hate having such a small bed,” one of them said, “It’s so narrow I’m always worried about rolling off.”

“They’re designed that way,” another one said, “It’s to prevent promiscuity.”

“Like bed size would make a difference. We just do it on the floor,” the first one said. The girls squealed in laughter and walked on.

College years were supposed to be rebellious and fun, filled with sexual awakening and breaking barriers. Instead Robin had spent her twenties trying desperately to fit back into that box of societal norms. She had wanted more than anything else to stay with the normal, the traditional, the safe. She had married the boy next door, settled down, followed all the rules, never ruffled feathers.

She drove back to the hotel, thinking about Other Robin. Other Robin had been a common ghost that haunted her when she had been locked away in her room those weeks following the attack. Unlike Robin, Other Robin had stayed on that fateful night. Other Robin had never been attacked, never been raped, never gone to trial. Other Robin had graduated University. Other Robin was happy. Other Robin had friends. Other Robin was a therapist, a social worker, a profiler, a cop. Other Robin was independent and didn’t take shit from anybody. 

What would be different? Her job, her marriage, her friendships. There was too much to even think about. As much as she told herself that the rape didn’t define her, that it was fifteen minutes of her life, that nothing about her had changed, there was no denying that her life had been irrevocably altered that night. 

She used to lie in bed thinking until her thoughts got too loud, then she would drown them out with a mantra of _ I want to die I want to die I want to die _ . She had not, in fact, wanted to die. She hadn’t wanted anything. The line had just appeared in her head like the lyrics to a song, and it had encircled her brain over and over again until it was always there. Her therapist had helped her find new mantras to play over it,  _ I’m safe _ , or  _ I’m okay _ , or sometimes even just  _ peace and quiet, peace and quiet _ .

Robin went up to her room and laid on her bed, staring at the ceiling. What was she doing here? What had her life become? Hiding birth control from her husband, fantasizing about other men, sneaking around her own house like it was a stranger’s. 

_ I want to die, I want to die, Peace and quiet, I’m safe, I’m okay, peace and quiet, peace and quiet... _

She picked up the phone in her room and called the lobby.

“Hello, yes, room service, could I order a bottle of wine?”

 


	20. Garrett Chappell

It took an hour for Strike to get through security and check off the boxes on the visitor forms, then there was a fight somewhere in the prison and the whole place went on lockdown for another hour. Cormoran waited in line along a rough brick hallway. Most of the other visitors were tired-looking women, some holding children, one with a large photo album under her arm. Strike had been to his share of prisons, but had never gotten used to the desperate faces of the women visiting inmates, angry and hungry for something that couldn’t be fulfilled.

The visitors weren’t separated by glass at Kennet the way that they were in high security prisons. Instead Strike sat at a hard linoleum table and waited for Robin’s rapist to be brought to him. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he waited. He hadn’t been exaggerating with Robin that morning. He wanted to rip Chappell to pieces. Maintaining composure would take all the willpower he had. 

A clanging of gates announced the inmates’ arrival, and there was a rustle across the room as mothers adjusted their children, lawyers took out their papers, and families bent to catch the first glimpse of their sons and brothers and husbands.

Strike recognized Garrett Chappell from an old mug shot, though time in prison had aged him considerably. He reminded Strike of an arctic husky, all white-grey hair and icy blue eyes. Strike noticed the discoloration by the man’s ear and felt a silent surge of admiration towards Robin. Not many people would notice it, even in broad daylight, but she had seen it at night, while the man wore a gorilla mask. Chappell sat down across the hard linoleum table.

“Mister Chappell,” Strike said, “My name is Cormoran Strike. Thank you for meeting with me.”

Garrett stared at Strike and didn’t speak.

“I’m a private investigator, and I am occasionally hired to do freelance work for the Innocence Project,” he continued, “Are you familiar with what they do?” 

The man nodded.

“Your case recently came across my desk, and it caught my attention. We found reason to believe that your key witness, a girl named Robin Ellacott, may have been coerced by her lawyer into making a false statement. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about your relationship.”

“I’m going to save you time,” Chappell said. Cormoran’s eyes widened in surprise. Chappell’s voice was a dull inhuman rasp, grating like metal on metal, barely understandable. He had a robotic voice box. “She wasn’t coerced. She was right about everything.”

“Mister Chappell, I don’t think you understand, this could get you out of prison, even get you some compensation-”

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand.” Chappell leaned forward on his elbows. “Last year there was a man whose daughter had been raped. When he found out what I was in for he shanked me in the throat.” Strike tried to twist his face into an expression of concern. 

“I died,” Chappell went on, “My heart stopped, and I was legally dead. Everything was cold and dark. And then, in the dark and cold, I felt these arms wrap around me, and hold me like a child. And I heard this voice tell me that I needed to change my ways.” Tears welled up in Chappell’s eyes. Strike tried to look for signs of lying: microexpressions, twitching, folding arms, not meeting eyes. Chappell showed no signs of dishonesty, but Strike had known enough good liars to know that these things could be faked.

“I was brought back,” Chappell said, “I don’t know why. I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t even want it. It would have been better for the whole world if I’d died. But it’s not my life anymore. My life belongs to Jesus Christ.”

Strike tried to wrap his head around this new development. It seemed too bizarre to be true, but Strike couldn’t think of any reason why Chappell would lie to him.

“That doesn’t change the fact that this girl may have been coerced into a false testimony.”

“That girl’s testimony was the best thing that ever happened to me,” Chappell said, “If it wasn’t for her I’d still be out there, living a life of sin.”

“Listen,” Strike said,” I know that the parole board likes remorse. It sounds good to them. But you don’t have to worry about them anymore, if we can throw this case out. If you just tell me about Robin Ellacott, you can get out free.”

Chappell stood up, his hands shaking.

“I have done great evil in my life,” he said, “But that is over. Now it is your turn to confess your sins. You are the evil one now. Not me.”

  
  


Strike didn’t feel ready to go back to Robin and tell her about the conversation. He felt defeated. He had gone in to find answers but it had only raised more questions. He knew he had promised to get Robin home as soon as he finished, but he just couldn’t go back to the hotel without some sort of a plan, something to tell her, something to show for their trip north. He had dredged up the filthiest ghost from her past and in the end it the whole thing had been pointless.

He took a cab to downtown Kennett and got a sandwich and a pint. He poked about the shops and thought about the case. Their only evidence against Chappell had been his voice, and now that was out. Where did that leave them? Their harasser was somebody who knew what Garret Chappell’s voice sounded like, who knew the ins and outs of Robin’s case, who hated Cormoran, who thought that they were sleeping together… Cormoran nearly slapped himself across the forehead. It was right in front of him! How could he have been so damn blind? Robin wouldn’t like the theory, of course. Cormoran would have to address it slowly, and with tact. Robin was a brilliant woman, she could draw the conclusions on her own. But it was always difficult to suspect somebody you love of something awful. Even the smartest people were coerced sometimes.

Cormoran didn’t know what to do, but he knew that the one person in the world who could help him was Robin. It was time for them to go home.


	21. The Dance

 

Cormoran took a taxi back to the hotel and went to the front desk.

“I’m going to let my sister know that I’m back, then we’ll turn in our keys,” he told the concierge. “Can I pay now?”

“Of course, Mr. Hall.” The concierge typed on his computer, then frowned. “It seems your sister has made some extra charges while you were gone. Your total will be one hundred and fifty pounds.”

Strike tried to hide his surprise.

“Could I see the receipt?”

“Of course.”

The receipt read,  _ 1 bottle of wine, The Notebook, Love Actually, Cinderella Story, Shakespeare in Love, 1 Godiva Gift Basket _

Strike raised his eyebrows.

“You know, I’ve changed my mind,” he said, “I think we’ll be staying another night. Thank you.”

On his way upstairs he called a Domino’s and ordered a large pizza, half cheese and half sausage. Then he knocked softly on Robin’s door.

“Are you a rapist?” Robin called from inside. Cormoran couldn’t decide if he should be concerned or laugh.

“No, it’s just me.”

He could feel Robin’s eye on him through the peep-hole before the door unlocked and opened. The room was dark behind her, and she was in a set of shark-print flannel pyjamas. Her hair was mussed up and she wasn’t wearing makeup. She looked like she was about to go to bed, even though it was barely seven.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Cormoran asked.

“No. Come inside. Join us.” Her speech was slurred, as if her words were too slippery to keep in her mouth.

“Us?” Cormoran asked.

“Me and Lady Godiva.” She gestured to an enormous gift basket of chocolate that lay demolished on her bed.

“Is this all you’ve eaten? I ordered us a pizza on my way up.”

“I’ve had beans,” she said.

“Cocoa beans don’t count as beans. And before you say it, wine is not a fruit salad either.”

Robin pouted. Cormoran’s phone buzzed.

“That’s the pizza,” he said, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Suddenly Robin was grabbing his hands in hers, her pleading face staring up at him.

“You promise?” she said. 

“I promise.”

When he came back with the pizza, Robin had opened the window and was sitting on the edge of her bed staring at her hands, the cold night air playing with her hair. The restaurant downstairs had live jazz again and Cormoran caught bits of “It Don’t Mean a Thing” in the breeze. He sat down next to her and handed her a slice of sausage pizza, dripping hot and greasy. 

“Careful, don’t burn yourself.”

Robin stuffed it in her mouth anyways and groaned in delight. Cormoran grinned.

“You were hungry,” he said. Robin nodded. They ate, not speaking, listening to the sound of trumpets and piano and drums all weaving together. 

“Do you ever wonder what your life would be like if you’d never lost your leg?” Robin asked.

“Yes. I’d have two legs. Are you going to eat your crusts?” Robin shook her head and he grabbed them.

“I wonder sometimes where I’d be if I hadn’t walked home alone that night,” she said. “Maybe I’d have moved to America and become a major profiler at the FBI, like somebody from Criminal Minds. I’d have been popular, and successful, with a university degree.” She stuffed another piece of pizza in her mouth. “I sure as hell wouldn’t be married to Matthew,” she said thickly.

Cormoran didn’t say anything. Her thigh pressing into his made him feel like he’d just run a mile.

“I would have been such a badass.”

He turned and looked at her, shining blue in the dark, hair wild, grease and chocolate on her face.

“Robin.” 

She stared at him, her pupils blown wide in the dark room, and she swayed back and forth slightly. Cormoran wondered how much she’d had to drink. She had trouble focusing on one spot. 

“Robin, you are the most badass woman I have ever met.”

Then the song ended and another started, a slow march. A woman started singing, her voice was like ripe fruit, heavy and sweet and strong.

_ “I know why I waited _

_ Know why I've been blue...” _

“Come here,” Robin said, standing on wobbly legs, “Dance with me.” She held out a hand.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s hard to dance with one leg,” Cormoran said.

“It’s hard to do a lot of things with one leg, but I see you doing them anyways.” She pulled his hands. “Come onnnnnn.” Cormoran stood up, but didn’t move any closer to her.

_ I've been waiting each day _

_ For someone exactly like you _ _... _

“You’re drunk,” he said.

“You’re not wrong.”

Cormoran laughed.

_ Why should I spend some money _

_ On a show or two... _

“I spent all day watching movies,” Robin said.

“I saw.”

“And you know what they all had in common? In every movie, our characters dance, and it’s filled with meaning and tension and power, and it’s very profound and beautiful. And right now I need some beauty, okay?”

_...When nobody sings these love songs _

_ Exactly like you... _

“Our characters?”

“You and me.”

“I didn’t know we were in so many movies.”

“You know what I mean. The repressed pair that everybody knows is supposed to get together, but they’re both so fucked up that neither of them can see it, and they never do anything about it until they dance all slow and close and realize that they’re meant to be together.”

“That’s you and me?” Cormoran asked

Robin blinked at him, weaving slightly.

“Not if we don’t dance together, it’s not,” she said, “Then we’ll just always be two lonely, fucked up people too scared to admit how we really feel.”

Her words hit Cormoran in the gut and twisted there. 

“Don't do this, Robin, don't say it-”

“Say what? What do you think I'm going to say?” She was a breath away from him. “What are you so afraid of?”

He clenched his eyes tight and buried his nose in her hair.

“I’m sorry Robin,” he whispered, his voice cracking, “I’m so sorry.”

He let her go and went into the bathroom, where he poured her two large glasses of water. When he came back robin was asleep on top of the covers, so he woke her up and watched as she drank all the water. Then he tucked her in and went back to his room, where he stared at the ceiling and imagined getting punched in the face, over and over and over. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT DO YOU WANT, WE GOT IT. WE GOT SOME ANGST. WE GOT SOME ROMANCE. WE GOT SOME DRUNKEN CONFESSIONS. The only thing that's missing is the naughtiness, yeah sorry about that, it's still a long time coming. (Ha! Geddit?)


	22. Hangovers

Matthew said that Robin had the gift of drunken memory, though Robin saw it as more of a curse. No matter how drunk she got, to the point of passing out on the bathroom floor, Robin could remember everything. She had no control over what she said when drunk, she still made an ass of herself, but she never blacked out. She remembered every word.

 _She asked him to dance. She told him they were supposed to be together. She asked him to_ dance _!_

Strike knocked softly on her door, sending lightning bolts through her skull.

“They’re serving breakfast downstairs,” he said.

“Go away.”

“Can I come in?”

Robin just groaned. She heard the buzzing of his key in the door, then he was standing at the foot of her bed, holding a bottle of Ibuprofen and a glass of water.

“Time to get up.”

“I can’t. I’m too embarrassed.”

“About last night?”

Robin groaned and burrowed deeper under her blankets.

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

She stuck her head out from under her blankets, her hair static in every direction.

“I asked you to _dance_ . I asked _you_ to _dance_!” She threw her face down into her pillow. “I have never been so humiliated in my life.”

Her mattress shifted at Cormoran sat on her bed.

“It could have been worse. Some people piss themselves when they’re drunk,” he said. Robin didn’t move. “I once had a friend who woke up in bed with a strange woman, covered in his own piss. He got out of bed and ran away while she was still asleep.”

Robin snorted faintly into her pillow.

“So see, you could have had it so much worse.”

“The things I said-”

“You were drunk. Everybody says stupid shit when they’re drunk.”

Robin stayed where she was.

“How are you breathing with your face in a pillow?” Cormoran asked.

“I’m not. I hope I suffocate and die.”

Cormoran looked at his hands, unsure of what to do, when Coco’s words came floating into his mind. _She wants you to talk to her. Your life, your feelings._

“There was a time, right after I lost my leg,” he said, “I was high off my ass on painkillers. I really wanted to take a shower, but for some reason, because of the meds, I thought that there was a bear in the shower. Don’t ask me why a bear was my first thought. ”

The corners of Robin’s face moved into a smile.

“And of course I couldn’t go anywhere on my one leg, so when Charlotte came home she found me crawling around the house, arse naked, yelling about bears.”

She laughed, muffled, into her pillow. Cormoran felt like he’d just won a medal.

“What I’m saying is that no matter what you do, I guarantee I’ve done something worse. You never have to be embarrassed around me.”

“Okay,” she said.

She sat up, gripping her head and swearing under her breath. Cormoran handed her the Ibuprofen and water, which she drank gratefully.

“No go away so I can get ready,” she said. Cormoran stood and walked to the door. Before he left, Robin called back,

“Hey.”

He turned.

“Thanks, Bear Man.”

Then she winked and shut the bathroom door, leaving Cormoran alone with his hand on his chest.


	23. Airing Suspicion

 

Robin called Matthew and told him that they were heading home. Then they checked out and got in the car.

“So what did you learn yesterday?” Robin asked.

Cormoran stared at his hands like they might tell him what to say.

“Well, Chappell was transferred because last year he was stabbed in the throat,” he said.

Robin counted her breaths before saying,

“I hope it hurt.”

“He says he’s found Jesus.”

“Okay.” 

She didn’t know what else to say about that.

“He’s got a mechanical voice box now. His voice has changed. He sounds like a robot.”

Robin sighed.

“Alright then,” she said.

“He’s not our guy.”

“Alright then.”

They drove on in silence for another half hour before Cormoran cleared his throat.

“So we’re looking for somebody who’s close to you, who knows about your past with Chappell enough to know Chappell’s voice, who thinks that we’re shagging, but who doesn’t want to hurt you,” he said.

Robin cut her eyes at him.

“I’m not a complete idiot, you know,” she said, “I know Matthew is the most obvious suspect.”

Strike was stunned.

“You do?”

“Yes, of course, I’ve been thinking about it for ages.”

“You have?”

“It’s fairly obvious. I mean, isn’t the spouse always the first person you look into? But in the end I’ve decided that it can’t be him.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well firstly, he’s my husband and he loves me. I like to think that I wouldn’t marry a total nutter.”

Cormoran held his tongue. As somebody who had nearly married Charlotte Campbell he knew these excuses by heart.

“Also I’ve looked at Lance’s costs and there’s no way Matthew could afford that,” she went on, “We share a bank account. I would have noticed if he’d spent that much.”

“Could he have a separate bank account that you don’t know about?”

“I’m an investigator, Corm, I’ve looked.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “I’ve looked everywhere.”

“How long have you suspected him?”

She kept her eyes carefully on the road and spoke in a flat, conversational tone. 

“Since before this even started. About a week into our honeymoon I found out that he deleted a message from you, right before the wedding, and blocked your number from my phone. I’m a bit mad, I guess. I go through his phone, his computer when he isn’t around. I just wanted to make sure.” She breathed out shakily. “I know how it sounds. I do. Paranoid psycho wife doesn’t understand boundaries…”

“You’re an investigator,” Strike said, “You investigate.”

“No, it’s very unhealthy. If it was the other way around, if Matthew was looking into me this way, I’d be bloody furious.” 

Cormoran didn’t say anything. Discussing marital problems was uncharted territory, far out of the boundaries of their work relationship.

“To be fair, I didn’t really start looking until after we got the first threatening text,” she said, “But then I really pulled out all the stops. I found his password list, then I went through his text messages and emails and bank statements. Everything.”

“And?”

“And I discovered that he’s buying me an opal necklace for my birthday and he’s got a borderline addiction to Candy Crush Saga. That’s all. I haven’t looked at his work computer, of course, but that’s closely monitored by the company. I doubt they’d appreciate him hiring male prostitutes on company time.”

Cormoran didn’t need to ask why Robin stayed with Matthew. He had stayed with Charlotte long after the trust between them had snapped, long after all of the benefits of their relationship had dried up, until they were left pantomiming love with nothing solid beneath them. Charlotte had read his mail, his journals, and answered his phone-calls. She had followed him to stakeouts and pounded on his windows. She had threatened all his female friends and scared off clients. In return he had tailed her everywhere, watched as she lied about even the most basic things; she would say she was going out with her friends when actually she was grocery shopping; she would say that she was going grocery shopping when actually she was going to the park and lying on the grass, staring up at the sky. None of these things would have bothered Cormoran in the slightest if she had told him the truth, but it was as if truth was physically impossible for her. He followed her as she slept with other men. He followed her as she drank away all of his money. He put up with it. Because she was beautiful, because she was powerful, because they'd been together for so long he couldn't remember how not to be. 

He knew why Robin stayed with Matthew. But he also acutely felt how it was poisoning her. His relationship with Charlotte had eaten at him, infected all of his other relationships, and left him feeling lost and damaged. Thankfully he had gotten out before the point of no return. Now, watching Robin, he only hoped that it wasn’t too late for her.


	24. Chapter 24

At the halfway point they stopped to use the toilet and get a bite to eat at a small cafe. As they waited on their food, Robin's phone rang.

“Hey Matthew,” she said, smiling. Suddenly her face fell.

“Oh my god,” she said, “Are you okay? What happened?” Cormoran could hear the faint sound of Matthews voice.

“Did you see his face?” she asked, “Did he say anything? ...Did you call the police? ... Jesus. Well I'll be there as soon as I can. I'm about two hours away. I love you baby.”

She hung up the phone and stared blankly ahead.

“What happened?” Cormoran asked.

“Matthew just got attacked,” she said. Her voice was thin and high.

“Christ, what happened?”

“He was walking home from the station and a man with a mask jumped out and hit him with a pipe.”

“Was it a mugging?”

“No, it was… well it was our guy.” She took a deep shaking breath. “He said ‘you defile yourself by sleeping with an adulteress.’”

“What is this, the Old Testament?”

“I know. A bit of a change in MO.”

“Matthew's alright though?”

“Yes. Shaken up, of course. They hit him about the middle so he's got a cracked rib and a pretty intense bruise. They're checking him out for an organ damage now.”

“When we get back to London don't bother with the office, go straight to the hospital. I'll take the train home from there.”

“Thanks.”

 

Two hours later she ran into Matthews exam room, breathless and wild-eyed.

“Matthew, baby, how are you feeling?”

“Like I have a cracked rib.”

“Is that the extent of it?”

“Is that not enough?” he asked bitterly.

“I'm just glad you're okay.”

She ran her hand through his hair.

“That must have been so scary,” she said, “Oh I’m so sorry.”

“It was awful. I just… I just froze.”

“You did great, baby. You did exactly the right thing.” She kissed his forehead. “My strong man.”

There was a knock at the doorway and Wardle came in.

“Hello Mr. Cunliffe, my name is Detective Wardle and I’m working on your case. I’m sure you know I’ve worked with your wife on several occasions.”

Robin rarely talked about her work at home, but Matthew nodded along as if she'd described Wardle in great detail.

“Yes, she's mentioned you.”

“I understand that you were attacked tonight,” Wardle said, “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“I was walking home from work…”

“And where is work?”

“It’s called Bullman Financial. It’s in Lindsey and Long.”

Wardle made a note on his pad, then nodded for Matthew to continue.

“I was walking by an alley on my way to a station, and a man hit me across the chest with a metal pipe.”

“Did you see where the attacker came from?”

“The alley, obviously.”

“Go on.”

“I fell down. He hit me again, across the stomach. Then he said ‘You defile yourself by lying with an adulteress.’”

Immediately both men turned to look at Robin, who held up her hands defensively. They looked away.

“Then he ran away, and I called 999,” Matthew finished.

“Did you see his face?” Wardle asked.

“No, he was wearing a mask.”

“Can you describe the mask?”

“It was a black latex fetish mask, with a hole for the mouth and eyes.”

“Was the attacker tall? Short?”

“Tall. Massive. Like a giant. But he spoke with a soft, high voice. It was weird.”

“Alright. That’s all my questions for now. Thank you very much.”

Robin followed Wardle out into the hallway.

“Do you have any suspicions?" she asked, "Anything at all?”

“The most obvious is Brockbank. He’s had it in for you since the summer.”

“It doesn’t seem like his MO, does it though?”

“MOs change.”

Robin rubbed her forehead.

“What do we do now?” she asked, “How do we stay safe?”

“Watch your back. Keep your alarm system on, don’t go out alone, or after dark. Stay home from work.”

Robin sighed.

"I mean it," Wardle said, "You have a very high-risk job."

“Would you stay home if you were in my shoes?”

“I’m a detective, Mrs. Cunliffe. I have years of training and experience.” He looked at her. “Speaking of which, do you have a dog?”

Robin was thrown by the question.

"A dog? No. Why would I have a dog?"

"Get a dog. A big one. A Boxer, or a Rottweiler."

"My flat is tiny."

"Get a dog."


	25. Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've reached a massive hole in my plot outline, I'm sort of throwing stuff around at this point. I know how it ends but I'm not entirely sure how to get there. This should be interesting. So I'd love any requests or ideas. I have the last few chapters written already, so obvs it has to end in the right place, but I also like hearing what you guys like to read. I'm going to try to continue posting every day, though I'm going to try for quality over quantity so no guarantee. Especially because my manager at work has decided to help out for the holidays, which means she's looking over my shoulder more, which means it's harder to write at the counter. Yes, this has mostly been written on scraps of wrapping paper at a toy store.  
> Anyways.  
> Thanks SO much for fixing my mistakes in the last chapter. I've been wanting to add a dog in somewhere, so it fit. I had no idea the UK had so few guns! Wow! That's amazing! It's pretty hard to imagine a life without the ever present sound of gunfire (part of that is my neighborhood, but still) and the constant news of school shootings. I visited London earlier this year and couldn't place why I felt so safe there, and I guess now I have at least part of an answer.

 

The doctor wrapped Matthew’s ribs and gave him some mild painkillers, then sent them on their way. It was around midnight when they finally got home. Matthew was quiet and went straight to bed.

At three in the morning Robin woke up, shivering, and found her bed empty. She wrapped herself in a blanket and found Matthew in the kitchen, poking at a bowl of Cheerios, tears running down his cheeks.

“Oh Matty,” Robin said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, “Matty, baby, we’re gonna catch this guy. Okay? We’re going to get him, and he’s going to face consequences for what he’s doing to us.”

Matthew turned to her and she was surprised by the anger in his eyes.

“No, _we’re_ not,” he said, “You are going to stay home and stay safe, and let the police take care of this.”

“Matthew-”

Matthew held up his hand.

“No. Robin, when you were gambling with your own life I was willing to let you be independent and make your own decisions. But this isn’t about just you anymore. This is about us. Your actions impact everybody around you. You have to stop working.”

“What makes you think that this guy is going to leave us alone if I stop going to work?”

“Well he’s angry about you and Strike, right? If he thought you were being faithful--”

“You know I am.”

“Okay, if he _knew_ that you were being faithful--”

“I’m not going to let him control my life. I’m not going to let him get to me.”

“He hasn’t gotten to you yet? Well guess what, Robin, he sure as hell got to me. He got to me with a metal pipe. And if that doesn’t get to you, well good for you, maybe when he puts a knife in my back that will really send a message!”

Robin jerked back like he'd hit her.

“Matthew, you know I didn't mean it like that. I want to protect us. More than anything else I want to protect us. That's why I want to catch this guy.”

“What about our family? How are we going to raise a child if we keep having to dodge mad pipe-wielding attackers?”

Robin didn't answer. Instead she poured herself a bowl of Cheerios and sat down across from him.

“Wardle says we should get a dog,” she said.

Matthew stared at her, taken aback.

“A dog?”

“It could protect us.”

“I don't have time to walk a dog. And how would we afford to feed it? Dogs eat a hell of a lot.”

“Yes and children live on light and water, like plants,” she shot back.

“We don’t have room in this flat for a dog.”

“And we have room for a family?”

She softened. “Look, I’m just saying, maybe it would be good practice.” She smiled at him sweetly. “Practice for when we have kids of our own.”

Matthew considered.

“As long as it’s already trained not to wee inside. I don’t want to live in an outhouse.”

“Alright.”

“And as long as it’s not some girly little thing. I won’t be seen walking a chaweenie or a chawoodle or some shit like that.”

Robin giggled.

“We’ll get the most manly dog you’ve ever seen in your life.”

 

Cormoran was relieved when Robin asked to take the next week off. The scar on her arm may have turned from red to pink to white, but it still jabbed at him whenever he saw it. As much as she insisted that she was autonomous and self-reliant, he still took responsibility for everything that happened to her. He still felt protective of her. He knew that she was strong and independent and a force to be reckoned with with self defense, but he still had to wrestle down his protective feelings whenever she went out alone. So he was glad when she requested a week off.

He could not deny, however, that he missed her terribly.

 

Robin spent the first two days preparing for the arrival of a new family member and nursing Matthew, who had declared himself bedridden. On Monday Robin gratefully excused herself and went to the pound.

She knew immediately which one was hers.

“This is Baby,” the pound employee said, “Her mother was a guard dog for a used car dealership, and that's where we found her. She's very gentle, actually, in spite of appearances. House trained, docile. A bit frightened of loud noises.”

Baby was more rhinoceros than dog, a Boxer the color and size of a thundercloud. She stared up at robin with baleful blue eyes and for the first time Robin believed in love at first sight.

 

“I’ll take her,” Robin said.


	26. Dog People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a looooooong ass day. I think I'm getting out of my slump, though. Either way, I feel like we're starting towards the big reveal. It'll be soon. Maybe a Christmas gift? We'll see...

  
  


Robin had grown up with dogs, and had loved them like members of the family. She loved them so much that at the age of four she had actually decided that she would rather be a dog than a little girl, and had spent several weeks eating without her hands and crawling on her hands and knees. She knew dogs. She knew how to toilet train them, how to discipline them, how to get them acclimated to a home; her crazy aunt Delianne had even demonstrated how to neuter them in the garage, though Robin never partook in that particular ritual. Robin knew everything there was to know about dogs. But Baby was different from the dogs her family had raised in Masham. Where they had grown up in barns and fields, Baby grew up in a used car lot. Unlike the dogs that Robin had previously trained, Baby already knew about leashes and how to walk without pulling. She knew not to tear up furniture and not to eat the food off the table. She knew how to greet people without jumping. However, Baby also hated large spaces and spent most of her first day hiding in the crate Robin bought her. She mistrusted men. When Coco came by to meet her on Tuesday Baby was all love and affection, but when Lance came to pick Coco up Baby planted herself in front of Robin and growled. She wasn’t a fan of Matthew, either, and peed on the floor whenever he came around. Robin was glad that she had requested a full week off, because Baby was not making it a restful time off.

By the end of the week, though, Baby was showing definite improvements. She was allowed free range of the house. She knew that she was allowed on the couch but not the bed, and wasn’t peeing on the floor anymore. She had gotten used to Matthew, and when Robin went back to work Baby was even able to spend a day alone with him. Finally Robin decided it was time they explored the office.

 

“Corm?” she called. 

Cormoran grunted his hello from the other room. 

“I want you to meet my Baby.”

“Wot?” Cormoran’s head popped out of his office door so fast Robin thought he might have whiplash. His eyes were wide with shock and he had half a souvlaki in his mouth. Robin giggled.

“This is Baby,” she said. At the sight of Cormoran, Baby hid behind Robin’s legs and whimpered. “I’m sorry,” she said, “She doesn’t much like men.” 

“It’s alright,” Cormoran said. Then, to Robin’s surprise, he lowered himself clumsily onto the floor. Robin couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable that must be for him and wanted to protest, but it was too late. He turned to the side so that he wasn’t facing Baby head-on, his prosthesis pointing out awkwardly, and he looked at the wall instead of making direct eye contact. Baby stopped whimpering.

“How’d it go with Prima Donna yesterday?” he asked the wall.

Robin felt such a surge of affection that for a moment she felt like she might do something ridiculous, like throw her arms around his neck, or cry. She choked the feeling down.

“No affair that I could tell. She went to work and then got dinner with a woman from work. She might actually just be a very dedicated friend. I’ll go back again today.”

Strike slid his left hand, the one holding his souvlaki, closer to Baby. Baby snuffled at the floor.

“I presented the shots of White Pride harassing Mini Me’s family,” he said, “They might have a case.”

“Ishtahar must be pleased.”

“She is. They all are. They’re meeting with the lawyer again today.”

Baby took two steps in Cormoran’s direction, then three more. Finally Cormoran slid the chicken off it’s skewer and held it out. Baby hesitated, watching him with anxious eyes, then trotted forward and took the chicken out of his hand. Cormoran reached out and scratched Baby’s ears. Robin beamed.

“Where’d you learn so much about dogs?” she asked. Cormoran wiped his hands on his pants.

“The use dogs a lot in the military,” he said, “Here, help me up.” Robin gave him her hand and he pulled himself up with a grunt of exertion and pain.

When standing he was suddenly much closer than expected, and they found themselves almost nose to nose. 

Eyes met, breath caught, a pause just a moment too long. For a moment they both considered alternate endings, alternate universes.

Then they both took a quick step backwards, back into reality.

“I’ll follow Prima Donna again today,” Robin said quickly.

“Good idea. I’ll, em, right up some reports around here.”

As Robin left she wondered just how strong her coffee had been that morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to note: I know nothing about dogs. I actually have a mild phobia of them, after watching my dad get bit. So I googled some stuff but we'll see.


	27. The Gala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for yesterday's delay. It's been a hellish week. Feeling better now, back on track.

 

Cormoran came in, shaking out his umbrella, and stopped dead in his tracks. Robin was sitting at her desk, applying makeup, in the dress. The Dress. The clinging, shining, completely out-of-bounds green dress. 

“Sorry, I’m getting ready here,” Robin said, “Matthew’s company just finished building a new high-rise by the water, so they had a ribbon-cutting ceremony this morning and a massive gala tonight. I’m going straight there from here. Coco is babysitting Baby, she’ll be here any minute. Then I’ll be on my way.”

“A gala?”

“Very fancy, lots of shmoozing. Not my thing at all.”

“Mm. Probably good food at least.”

“Probably, but I won’t be partaking.”

“No?”

“No. Gossip abounds at these places. Everybody’s wives watching everybody else’s, judging each other, whispering.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Wealthy ladies don't eat.”

Cormoran snorted.

“Fuck that,” he said, “what's the point of being rich if you don't get to stuff your face?”

Robin grinned and tucked her lipstick back in her purse. 

“That’s the kind of support I need in my life,” she said, pulling on her coat.

“You… look nice,” Cormoran said, flushing red as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Robin smiled.

“Thank you. It’s the nicest thing I own, besides my wedding dress. And I doubt wearing my wedding dress would go over well with the society ladies.” She grabbed her umbrella. “See you tomorrow, then.”

 

The new office building glistened with modernity and expense. Permit delays had put off the finishing touches of the building several months, but the gala had been planned all year and the company hadn't wanted to put it off, so they just blocked off the unfinished hallways and made sure that the guests stayed in the recently completed ballroom. 

Matthew was waiting for her at the door, and his eyes widened when he saw her.

“What are you wearing?” he hissed. Robin faked innocence.

“A dress.”

“ _ That _ dress.”

“It’s the nicest thing I own.”

“It’s a bit...  _ tacky _ for this kind of event, isn’t it?” 

Robin stared pointedly at the woman entering behind them, wearing what looked like a red satin slip.

“Shall we?” she said.

The ballroom was arctic, stark white with silver and black accents. Hors d'oeuvres and cocktails were being served along one side and a string quartet was playing softly in one corner. Men in suits bobbed about like penguins, discussing politics and money while sparkling women hung on their arms and nodded along. Robin loaded her plate up with bacon-wrapped potato bites, mozzarella toasts, and petit fours. Cormoran was right, these things were almost worth it if you stuffed your face. She scanned the room for anybody she knew, anybody she could possibly talk to. She stopped when her eyes reached the band.

_ It couldn’t be.  _

It was.

Robin immediately turned her back, cursing under her breath.

“What’s the matter?” Matthew said, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“That woman, with the violin? That’s Strike’s ex-girlfriend.”

Matthew’s eyebrows sky-rocketed.

“The blonde? No. There’s no way.”

“Yes, her name is Elin.”

“ _ That’s _ his ex?”

“Yes.”

“That’s  _ his  _ ex?”

“They broke up about a two months ago.”

“Christ, I wish  _ my _ dad was a famous rock and roller.”

Robin flushed and covered up an angry retort with a bacon-wrapped potato.

“Why don’t you want to see her?” Matthew asked, “Did you two not get on?”

“She’s a bit snobby. Very posh.”

“I can see why she’d end it with Strike then.”

“Oh, no, he ended it with her.”

“That’s what he told you, at least.”

Robin wasn’t sure how to respond without insulting Cormoran or making Matthew angry. Thankfully, Matthew's CEO took that moment to take to the stage and begin thanking people.

The thank-you's went on for what felt like hours. Toasts, flowers, honorable mentions, ass-kissing, one after another until Robin's ears rang with polite applause. 

Finally the man stepped down and the band started playing  a slow jazz piece, and couples began filtering onto the dance floor.

“Let’s dance,” she said, and led Matthew to the center of the room.

They had both taken dance classes in school, from a lonely old teacher named Miss Rebecca who swore that all children must learn to dance in case they ended up marrying royalty. She would say, "You might be little princes and princesses some day! And then won't you be glad for all this! You'll want to send me flowers." Matthew had always been the best dancer of the lot, even as a gangly teenager. 

Today, Robin and Matthew moved together like clockwork, years of practice and experience between them. They swayed, they spun, they swayed again, nothing overly passionate, just the steps that they had been dancing since they were children, the steps they could dance in their sleep.

The song ended and they joined Darrin and Colleen for cocktails.

“You two made lovely dance partners out there,” Colleen said, “You're so graceful.”

“We learned dancing in school,” Robin explained.

“I’ve two left feet myself,” Colleen said, “Can’t keep rhythm at all.”

“Dancing with Colleen is like dancing with a refrigerator,” Darrin said.

“Robin is an excellent dancer,” Matthew said, “She’s been taking burlesque classes.” He winked heavily.

“You lucky bastard,” Darrin sighed.

“If you’re good to me maybe I’ll let you take her out for a turn on the dance floor tonight,” Matthew said.

“With an offer like that I’m at your beck and call,” Darrin said.

Robin’s hand was trembling on her cocktail glass, and she could feel the heat radiating from her face.

“Don’t worry Robin,” Darrin said wiggled his eyebrows, “I promise I’m very good.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I have to go to the ladies’.” She hated Darrin’s eyes on her. She could feel his thoughts sliding over her skin like oil, imagining her naked, imagining her... “I have to take an enormous shit,” she finished, “Just massive. Probably diarrhea.” Then she stalked off, leaving them open-mouthed and confused behind her.

 

Robin splashed cold water on her face and tried to calm down. 

_ How dare he, how dare he, how dare he. _

The toilet flushed and the stall door slammed behind her.

“Robin?”

Robin turned around to see Elin. She was surprised that she remembered her name.

“Elin? Wow, small world. Are you playing violin here tonight?” She asked.

“Yes. Just took a brief break.” Robin noticed that Elin was flushed and swaying a bit from drink, and wondered just how brief of a break it had been.

“How are you?” Robin asked.

“How am I. Well, that’s a difficult question, isn’t it,” she said, “But I’m alright I suppose.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“I hear you got married.”

“Yes, I did.” Robin instinctively looked down at the diamond ring on her finger.

“Congratulations. And good luck,” Elin said, “You’ll need it. Marriage is difficult. And sacred. Never forget that. Marriage is a sacred… A sacred thing.”

“Alright,” Robin said, “You take care, Elin.”

“Yes. Tell Corm… Tell him hello. And tell your husband that you love him. You need to do that. Often. Tell the people you love, that you love them. Tell him…” Elin stood blinking at the wall and Robin left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my favorite, but it's done.


	28. Birthday Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is longer, cause I'm not sure if I can get another one out by tomorrow night. I want to make sure that these next couple chapters are super polished, so that there's no inconsistency or holes. As always, you guys are the bright spot in some very dreary days. Your comments and support mean so much to me.

September bled into October. Matthew moved into the new office building and all complaints about his aching ribs disappeared in his awe of the amenities his new work space provided (The rooftop garden! The cafeteria! The view!). Back to School sales turned to halloween candy, decorations, and absurdly sexy costumes. The wind blew the leaves into little tornadoes that Baby chased and snapped at, and Robin photographed the constant stream of cheating lovers until they all blended together into one long blur of infidelity. She moved up in burlesque class and bought herself a pair of red sequined shorts, something she wouldn’t have dreamed of doing just a few months earlier. She went out for drinks with the dance ladies almost every week. Matthew had stopped bringing up their future family, and his internet search history no longer included “Recipes to improve fertility,” for which Robin was grateful.

 

Robin woke up at 5AM on October ninth to let Baby out for a pee. She was standing out in the cold, braced against the October wind, when she realized that it was her birthday. She was twenty-seven.

She climbed back into bed with Matthew.

“I’m twenty-seven.”

“Your feet are freezing.”

“It’s because I’m an old woman with poor circulation.”

 

Robin woke up again at six to the smell of something wonderful, and padded out to the kitchen. Matthew was adding whipped cream to a massive pile of pancakes.

“Happy birthday babe,” he said, grinning.

“Oh Matthew, this looks wonderful!”

“It’s not every day you turn seventeen,” he joked.

“You think you’re so smooth.”

“I made a fruit salad, hot chocolate, and pancakes. Or as they’re called in Mexico, _panqueques_. Which literally translates to ‘bread what what’.”

Robin sat down, beaming. Matthew had his flaws, but he always came through on birthdays. Every year he outdid the year before in planning and excess. Robin dug into her pancakes. They were clearly made from a mix, but they had chocolate chips and strawberries and whipped cream and chocolate sauce, and she was touched to her core. She piled on the fruit salad.

“It’s a shame you have to work on your birthday,” Matthew said, “You’d think Strike’d let you take your birthday off.”

“Strike’s not the one who _lets_ me do anything," Robin said around a mouthful of whipped cream, "He’s my partner, not my boss. I chose to work today because it’s the only day that I could meet with this lawyer.”

“And he couldn’t meet with this lawyer instead?”

“No, I’m the only one who witnessed the vandalism.”

“Come on, Robsy Bobsy, call in sick. We could go back to bed…”

“Matthew…”

“Birthday sex…”

“Matthew, no.”

The thought of going back to bed did seem tempting to Robin, though for sleep rather than sex. She was exhausted. She suddenly felt all the early mornings and late nights that she’d been taking weighing on her muscles. She drank her hot chocolate in the hopes that it might wake her up.

“We could lie around all day and watch TV in our pajamas…”

“Saturday. We’ll do it on Saturday.”

 

She got her things together, kissed Matthew goodbye, and headed to her tube station. She couldn’t stop yawning, so she bought coffee at a station cafe. Her phone buzzed as she waited for her order to become ready. It was from Strike.

_“Happy birthday Robin. Glad you were born.”_

She smiled and grabbed her coffee.

She couldn’t deny that she liked Cormoran a great deal, more than was probably appropriate. But, she reminded herself, just because you like somebody didn’t mean that you would be good together. Just because you like somebody didn’t mean that you should act on those feelings. She sipped at her coffee and considered this as she sat on the train. She was an adult now, twenty-seven, not some teenager who got sidelined by mad crushes or romantic fantasies.

When she got off the train the sunlight outside the station seemed unusually bright, and her head felt heavy and soft. She drank more of her coffee. She needed to stop working so late.

She was so tired. Why was she so tired? She couldn’t keep her eyes open and nearly tripped on the stairs. Baby started to whine around her feet.

“It’s okay Baby.”

The world seemed to ripple around her like she was looking through a warped mirror.

“It’s okay, I just have to sit down for a minute.”

The ground felt springy under her feet, and she felt herself struggling to stay upright.

“Are you alright?” a voice said. Robin tried to focus on who was talking to her, but everything was blurry.

“I’m fine,” Robin said. Baby started to bark.

“Here, you’re not well, come sit down.”

“No, no, really, I’m just…” Nothing was where is was supposed to be. Baby’s barking pounded in her head.

“Come with me, let’s get you to a doctor.”

An arm wrapped around her shoulders and started leading her away. Baby was growling.

“No, no, I have work, I… Why can’t I see anything? Why am I so tired?”

“You’re very ill, it’s alright.”

It was all darkness. She heard Baby growl and snap, she heard a woman shriek, the arm released from around her shoulders. She tried to run but tipped over and crawled blindly on her hands and knees. There was the sound of a heavy kick, a yelp from Baby, then she was being lifted into a car. Then the floor came up to meet her and everything was warm and black and quiet.


	29. The Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said I wanted to wait for this to be super polished with no loose ends? Yeah I got impatient and was like "SCREW IT I'LL TIE UP THE LOOSE ENDS WHEN I GET TO THEM." I have three different versions of the tomorrow's chapter, each one very different, so this is gonna be fun.  
> Oh, also, trigger warning for mentions of suicide attempts.

 

Cormoran paced back and forth in the office. The lawyer Robin was supposed to be meeting had called Cormoran at one and told him that Robin hadn’t shown up. He’d called her three times now, and she hadn’t answered. He'd even resorted to calling Coco, in case Robin had been whisked off on some surprise birthday party, but Coco didn't know anything. He knew it was Robin's birthday, he knew that it would be absolutely reasonable for her to take the day off. But not telling anybody, that was completely unlike her. Then when Baby had shown up outside his door, barking and limping, he knew. 

He was about to call Wardle when his phone buzzed. 

_ Robin cunliffe wants to video message. _

He had never video messaged anyone before , he didn't even know that it was an option, but he hit “accept” anyways. 

Robin was standing, her arms outstretched, each wrist zip-tied to a long pipe bolted to a wall. Her eyes were wild and red and a large piece of duct tape covered her mouth.

“I have your girlfriend.”

The speaker’s voice was harsh and robotic, spoken through a child’s toy voice changer. 

“It’s you for her,” the voice said, “Don’t call the police. Don’t tell anyone. Come to 332 Long Street. You show up unarmed and alone, and I’ll let her go.”

Cormoran thought back to everything they knew about this person. The message, the two attacks. He tried to profile, the way that Robin would.

“You wouldn’t hurt her,” Cormoran said, “You love her too much.”

“Do I?” The voice changer clicked off, and the speaker talked in a cool, smooth female voice. “Do I really?” She turned the camera around to show her face. 

Even after everything, she was still the most beautiful woman Cormoran had ever seen. 

“Charlotte,” Cormoran breathed, “Oh Charlotte, what have you done.”

“Whatever it takes to get you here, Bluey.”

“I’ll be there. Just don’t hurt her.”

“Keep your mouth shut and she’ll be fine.”

“I won’t tell anybody. I’m on my way now.” 

No time for a coat, no time for anything. He went out the door and barely felt the October cold. Baby padded silently behind him as he waited for the 55 bus.

“Stay on the line so I know you won’t try anything,” Charlotte said.

“I will. I will.” A bus came and Cormoran's heart sped up in relief, but it wasn’t the 55, and it kept on driving. He swore under his breath. _Think, think, what would Robin do, what would she say, how would she read this situation._

“I’ve missed you, Charlie,” he said, “I’ve missed you so bad.”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes at him.

“You’ve got a nice way of showing it, abandoning me and leaving me alone with Jago's abuse."

“I was angry. That doesn’t mean that I don’t still love you.”

Charlotte snorted.

“You talk good talk.”

“I mean it, Charlie, I do. I’m glad you’re doing this. You and me, we’re going to be together. Forever.”

The 55 bus finally stopped and Cormoran got in. Baby followed him soundlessly, like a large grey shadow. He moved to the upper level where it was completely empty. Charlotte stared at him with her dark bovine eyes.

“Do you remember the Valentine’s Day of ‘09?” Charlotte asked. Cormoran was thrown by the sudden change in conversation, but he shook off his confusion and tried to follow her lead.

“Hard not to," he said, "You tried to jump off a building.”

He remembered it well. The table set with candles and crystal, the lacy pink heart with the words  _ “I’m just so tired of fighting”  _ written on it. He remembered running up to the roof and there she was, standing on the edge of the wall, arms outstretched, thin and white and graceful in the pouring rain.

“Do you remember the words you said to me?”

“I told you that I loved you.”

Charlotte raised her eyebrows.

“Go on, what else did you say?”

“I begged you not to jump. I begged you not to leave me all alone.” He was gripping the phone so tightly his hand was getting slippery with sweat. He tried to remember everything from that night. “I said that you were the only person I had ever truly loved.”

“Then what?”

“Then you… then you came down.”

“You really don’t remember, do you.” Her eyes sparkled with tears.

“No, I do, I-” He remembered her clinging to him, crying, both of them getting drenched. He remembered… “I told you that you weren’t allowed to die before me. I made you promise. I made you swear to outlive me.”

“You wanted to be the first person to welcome me into heaven.”

Cormoran didn’t remember saying this, he knew it was very unlike him, but he didn’t doubt it. That night he would have said anything. He would have bowed down to any god, joined any monastery, cut off his other leg, if it got her to step down off that ledge.

“It was a very cheesy thing to say, considering that we’re both atheists," Charlotte said, "But it really spoke to me. And I held to it. I didn’t try to kill myself again after that.” She sniffed wetly. Somehow even that seemed beautiful coming from her. “You know that’s been the only promise I’ve ever kept? The only one. I swore to outlive you. And I will.”

“Good,” Cormoran said, “That’s really good.”

The bus trundled through the darkening streets.

“You kept a promise, Charlie,” he said, “I’m really proud of you.”


	30. The Science of Zip-Ties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this rewinds a couple of lines before starting. I think you'll get it. You're a smart bunch.

“You know that’s been the only promise I’ve ever kept? The only one. I swore to outlive you. And I will.”

Robin tried to focus but her mind was a red strobe of panic. She pulled and struggled and tried to scream, which wrenched her shoulders and made her zip-ties tighten painfully against her wrists. Cormoran would come, he would be traded for her, he would put himself at risk, but she couldn’t let him, she had to stop him, she had to tell him...

“You kept a promise, Charlie,” Cormoran said, his voice fuzzy through the phone, “I’m really proud of you.”

The sound of his voice made Robin’s blaring panic slow and soften . She tried to breath.  _ I’m really proud of you.  _ She closed her eyes and let those words sink into her. What would Cormoran do in this situation? 

She tried to take stock of where she was. 

She was in a white room with a cement floor and a large boiler in one corner, but the boiler was turned off and it was quite cold. Charlotte was standing by the only door, a long knife in one hand and a hammer in her belt. Robin’s wrists were zip-tied to a heavy pipe, and the plastic was digging heavily into her skin, causing her fingers to slowly lose circulation. She kicked her legs out and discovered that her ankles were also zip-tied together. She pulled on the pipe, testing its strength. It held solid, but the straps around her wrists tightened even more.

“You can pull all you want,” Charlotte said, looking up from the phone, “That pipe isn’t going to budge.”

Robin had studied zip-ties before, mostly out of curiosity. She knew that they had small nylon teeth running lengthwise down one side, and a ratchet with teeth that allowed downward pressure as the tie was threaded, but locked it in place to prevent any backwards movement. She knew that the harder she pulled the tighter they would get. She also knew that there were only three ways to get out of zip-ties, two of which only worked if both hands had been tied together in front of her. 

The only way to break out of these would be to disable the locking bar with a file or a shim. If the locking bar was lifted from the plastic teeth, the zip-tie would slide out effortlessly.

“I’m almost there,” Cormoran said from the phone, “Don’t hurt her, I’m almost there.”

Robin slowly slid her hands back and forth along the length of the pipe. 

“As long as neither of you try anything, she’ll be fine.” She turned to Robin. Robin stopped moving and hung her head and closed her eyes.

“Just sit still and be quiet and I’ll let you go,” Charlotte said, then turned back to the phone. Robin didn’t need to move or make noise. While sliding her hands along the pipe she had found a nail sticking out of the wall, near her left wrist.

“You’re so beautiful,” Cormoran said, “I’ve missed you so bad.”

“You look like shit, yourself,” Charlotte said.

Robin worked the nail through the groove of the zip-tie and pushed down hard. The nail slipped and dug deep into her wrist, making her wince and gasp in pain. Her heart stopped and she glanced at Charlotte to see if she had noticed anything, but Charlotte was too busy looking at Cormoran on her phone.

“It’s because I don’t have you around anymore,” Cormoran said, “This past year has been hell without you.”

A trickle of blood ran down Robin’s wrist, but she tried with the nail again, this time successfully fitting the pointed edge under the locking bar. She pulled hard, and the zip-tie slid open and fell to the ground. 

Her first instinct was to immediately free herself and make a break for it, but one look at Charlotte made her reconsider. Robin was still loose and dizzy from the sleeping pills, her hands had lost most of their circulation, and she was unarmed. Even if she managed to free herself without Charlotte noticing, Charlotte would make quick work of her with the knife and the hammer.

So Robin covered the loosened zip-tie with her foot and waited, her newly freed hand still in its crucifix position.

“I’m here,” Cormoran said, “You can let her go. I’m right outside.”


	31. The Roof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not super happy with this, it feels a bit rushed, and I'm probably going to regret posting by the morning, but fuck it, I just have to get it out there.

Cormoran half-ran half-limped the two blocks to the address. It was a large office building with no lights on in any of the offices and a sign that read “FOR LEASE” on the window. He paused outside, catching his breath, shutting his eyes against the pain in his knee. He signalled for Baby to sit and stay. Then, with all his resolve, he walked to the door.

“I’m here,” Cormoran said, “You can let her go. I’m right outside.”

There was a click as the door was unlocked remotely. He pushed it open and stepped into what was once a lobby, but was now empty and abandoned. The only furniture was a large front desk that was built into the floor. The sun had already set, and it was dim inside.

“Good,” Charlotte said, “Now take off your leg.”

“What?”

“Take off your leg and come to the center of the room.”

“How am I supposed to come to the center of the room without my leg?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Strike leaned against the front desk and removed his prosthesis, then hopped gracelessly to the center of the room, where he stood, swaying slightly.

“Bye baby,” Charlotte said, “See you in a minute.” The video shut off, leaving Cormoran alone.

 

He watched as the elevator light flashed from R to 15, to 14, and wondered for a moment. Robin wasn’t being kept on a rooftop. If anything it looked more like a basement. The lift got closer, twelve, eleven, ten, and Strike knew that he, a street scrapper, an ex-boxer, a veteran, a man who had been fighting his entire life, would give himself up as quietly and peacefully as a child if it meant that Robin went free. Finally the lift hit G, and opened slowly.

Inside was a wheelchair, being pushed by

“Matthew fucking Cunliffe,” Cormoran said, “You and Charlotte? Jesus. I have got to know how this partnership came to be.”

“London is a small town, really,” Matthew said, “And you do tend to step on people’s toes. It wasn’t hard to find somebody who has a grudge against you.”

Matthew roughly patted Cormoran down for weapons, took his phone, then pushed the chair around behind Cormoran and roughly forced him into it. He took out a roll of duct-tape and tightly bound Cormoran’s hands and ankle to the arm and foot rests. Cormoran sat there limply.

“You don’t have to do this,” Cormoran said, “I’m not going to fight you. You let Robin go and I’ll do whatever you want.”

Matthew didn’t answer.

“What’s Robin going to think when she finds out what you’ve done?”

“She won’t think anything. It’s Charlotte who sent threatening letters, Charlotte who kidnapped her, Charlotte who jumped off the roof with you.”

“You’ve always underestimated Robin's intelligence,” Cormoran said.

“You’ve always underestimated Robin's love for me,” Matthew said. “She’s going to believe me.” Satisfied with his handiwork, Matthew started wheeling Cormoran towards the lift. “My dad used to tell me that every woman really only wants two things, really. Jewelry and protection. When we get home I’m going to give her a beautiful opal necklace, and I’m going to hold her tight and tell her that nobody is ever going to hurt her again. You might think that Robin is more complicated than that, but deep down she’s very simple.”

Cormoran didn't know how to answer.

Matthew pressed the button for the roof.

“Charlotte and I made a deal that I could have a few minutes alone with you,” he said.

"What for?"

Matthew sighed and grew more serious. “I guess I just want you to know that I'm not a bad man,” he said, “I'm just a man who loves his wife. And I would do anything to keep her safe. Anything.”

Cormoran watched the numbers on the elevator slowly rise.

“It wasn’t my intention to kill you, not at first. I just wanted to scare Robin enough to come to her senses. I wanted her to realize that the job was bad for her. But nothing I did was enough. Even when I got injured, even her own husband, she kept going to work.”

“It sounded like Charlotte has been planning to kill me for some time,” Cormoran said, “This suicide pact idea of hers couldn’t have dawned on her overnight.”

“She didn’t tell me that she was planning on killing you until recently. That crazy bitch played me like a fucking fiddle. She had her own agenda all along. But it turned out alright in the end, didn’t it. For us at least, not for you. In the end we both came to the same conclusion.”

“That I have to be pushed off a roof?”

“Something like that.”

The elevator reached the roof and Matthew pushed Cormoran out into the cold air. The wind whipped around them, stinging Cormoran’s eyes and chilling him to the bone. Somehow Matthew’s hair stayed unmoved by the wind, shellacked into a perfect textured fringe cut. It made him seem eerily plastic, unbreakable even by nature.

“I’m not a bad man,” Matthew said. There was a toolbox on one end of the roof, and he went over and opened it. “I’m just a man who loves his family.”

Cormoran’s eyes widened. Matthew smiled.

“That’s right. I think you owe me a congratulations.” He picked up a heavy sledgehammer from the toolbox and hefted it from hand to hand. “I’m gonna be a daddy.”

“But- what-”

“Oh, she hasn’t told me, but I know my wife. She hasn’t gotten her period in two months, she’s gaining weight like crazy, she gets stomach aches. She gets dizzy, she’s horny all the time… I don’t think I need to say more.”

“Where is she? What have you done to her?”

“She’s perfectly safe. Like I said, I’m not a bad man.”

He checked his watch.

“I’m not a bad man,” he repeated, “But I do have to admit, I’ve wanted to do this for a very, very long time.”

Then he lifted the hammer high above his shoulder and brought it down, hard, onto Cormoran’s bad leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that this chapter ties up most loose ends (as far as means and motive and stuff), but let me know if you have any major questions and I'll address them in later chapters.


	32. The Living Note

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's short. It's good though. You won't be disappointed.

Robin’s mouth was full of the taste of glue. She was trying to lick the tape over her mouth until it lost its stick, but Charlotte had used several long strips of black electrical tape and it was taking longer than Robin had hoped.

“You don’t have to worry about anything,” Charlotte said, “I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to call the police right before we jump, and tell them where you are. They’ll get you out of here just fine.”  

Robin’s mind raced. Cormoran had told Charlotte that he was there, but Charlotte wasn’t going to get him the way that Robin expected; she was just standing and talking to Robin, occasionally checking her watch. Charlotte didn’t seem like the type to delay gratification, but here she was. Robin tried to reason this out in her mind, but panic kept edging its way in and clouding over all rational thoughts.

“You’re the last living person I plan on talking to,” Charlotte went on, “And I never have been much of a writer, so I guess I might as well say the things in my head to you. Suicide notes are so old fashioned and a bit too drama-queen for me anyways. Maybe when you get out you can tell the others. Maybe you can explain to them why I want to do it, and why it has to be this way.” Blood trickled down from Robin’s wrist into the groove of her elbow. 

“I have nothing against you, really,” Charlotte sighed, “Cormoran is very easy to love. I understand what you see in him. Really, I do. He manages to fulfill your deeply rooted daddy issues while also putting across a bit of Double-O-Seven sex appeal. He was the one stable foundation in my life for many years. The only thing I could rely on. He was my rock.” Charlotte was beautiful when she cried, tears glittering around the edges of her eyes, making her eyelashes dramatic little points. 

“Then he pulled it all out from under me. He knew that he was the one thing holding me together, but the selfish bastard abandoned me, leaving me alone with our unborn child, giving me no choice but to run into the arms of my abusive ex. He needed payback for what he did to me, and that’s what he’s getting right now…. But God, somehow I love the man in spite of everything.”

Robin could understand why Lance mistook Charlotte for her on the phone. While their accents were different, their voices were very similar in pitch and tone. 

“I'm looking forward to this,” Charlotte continued, “It's going to be good. Just to get some peace and quiet. I just need some peace and quiet. I just need some fucking peace and quiet, just for once in my fucking life, just one minute of  _ quiet. _ ” Her voice rose into a frenzy.

“Everything here is just so  _ loud _ , so  _ busy _ . Voices everywhere, everybody fucking with you, everybody lying, everybody demanding something. I just need some quiet. From the world, from my own brain. Sometimes it feels like my brain is just SCREAMING!” The last word came out a shriek, barely human, and Robin flinched back. Charlotte clenched her eyes tight. She took a deep breath. 

“And I'm just... tired of it,” she finished. 

There was a large crash outside, startling Charlotte out of her self-reflection. 

“What the fuck was that?” she said.

She opened the door and leaned out. 

It was like a furry grey freight train hit Charlotte around the middle, all teeth and muscle and roaring fury. Baby sank her teeth into Charlotte’s side and Charlotte fell to the ground, her knife skittering across the floor. Robin reached over and worked the zip-tie off her other wrist, then ripped the soggy tape off her face. She tried to run, forgetting that her feet were still tied together, and pitched forward, catching herself just in time but twisting her left wrist painfully under her. Charlotte staggered to her feet, a large flap of skin peeling down her face. The knife was gone, but she drew back her fist and buried it in Robin’s mouth. Robin felt a snap, a sharp sting, then nothing but a dull numb ache. Then Baby leapt again and Charlotte went down. 

Robin crawled over to the knife and sawed through the ties on her ankles. She could feel bits of teeth sticking into her gums and lips and tasted blood, but none of it mattered, nothing mattered but finding Cormoran. She grabbed the hammer from Charlotte’s belt with her uninjured right hand and staggered out the door. 

“Baby!” she shouted, “Come on, Baby, she’s done, she’s done, Baby, let’s go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the three year anniversary of my new teeth. A part of me wishes they'd been punched out by my true love's psycho ex, that would make a better story. Instead I knocked my teeth out when I got so horrified by the sight of blood that I fainted and hit the bathroom floor.


	33. Highly Commended

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorty but goody tonight. Hopefully we're gonna get a bit longer again after this. I dunno. I just love the ending of this chapter so much I didn't want to wreck it by stretching it out.

Cormoran sagged in the wheelchair, seventeen floors above the city. A gentle mist was falling, giving the air that sweet soft smell of autumn. The lights of London were spread out like a sheet of diamonds below them, glittering coldly in the dark. Cormoran thought about how everywhere there was a light there was probably at least one person there, possibly more. The city was full of life and humanity and not one of them knew that he was there, seventeen stories above them, having his legs broken by Matthew Cunliffe. 

Matthew wielded the sledgehammer again and brought it down on Cormoran’s foot. Cormoran was no longer able to scream, the pain was too intense to make a sound, to breathe. Tears ran down his face. 

Cormoran closed his eyes. He imagined Robin, walking out alive. He imagine Robin, going home with a Matthew, opening her gifts, crying into his shoulder and hearing him murmur reassurances. She would go home with a torturer and a killer, she would share his bed, she would have his child. How long would it take for her to make the connections? She wouldn’t take Matthew’s word for it, she wasn’t a jewelry and security kind of woman. She would keep looking, she would question everything, she would press for answers until she discovered the truth, and then what would Matthew do to her? How far would he go? Did he really suspect her of infidelity? Cormoran couldn’t let Matthew punish her for something she never did. 

“I nuh-never-never…” Cormoran started, trying to catch his breath, “Rob-robin and me nev-never…”

“Nuh-nuh-nuh-” Matthew mocked. “Jesus Christ you're pathetic.” He leaned on the hammer. “You two’ve never what? Shagged? Fucked? Got your end away? I know you haven't.” Matthew barked a dry laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, “Have you met Robin? She's not the cheating type. And even if she was, you really think she'd go for you? Get over yourself, you fat fuck. I'm not  _ jealous _ .” He grew serious. “Everything I’m doing is for her protection. I just want to keep her safe. From the job, yes, of course. You put her in dangerous situations every single day, and it needs to stop. But I’m also keeping her safe from you.”

Cormoran blinked up at Matthew from his fog of pain.

“You're a man,” Matthew continued, “I know how men's minds work. We’re all just filthy animals beneath the surface, just look around you. Look at the news. I know it's only a matter of time before you stop caring about her boundaries and start thinking that her no means yes. I mean look at her. The girl is jail bait. I’ve seen her go through that once before, and it’s not going to happen again.” 

“I would never hurt her. I would duh-die first.”

“That is my intention.” 

Matthew swung the hammer at Cormoran’s shoulder and Cormoran could feel his arm slide out of its joint. 

“Charlotte will be up here in a minute,” Matthew said, panting, “Then this will all be done with. Nobody is ever going to hurt Robin again.”

“Damn right they’re not,” Robin said. 

They both turned to see her stepping out from the fire escape. She was bleeding copiously from her nose and mouth, wielding a knife and a hammer, and she was the most beautiful thing that Cormoran had ever seen in his life.

“Robin?” Matthew said, “Robin, baby, how did you-” Robin slammed the hammer into the side of his skull. He crumpled to the ground.

“I’m highly commended, you sonofabitch.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody is armed with a hammer, I know, I hope it's not like "SO MANY HAMMERS!" But the hammer is always my weapon of choice. Plus it makes sense, if Matthew wants to inflict pain without being too suspicious, hammer wounds would blend in with falling-off-roof wounds. Plus I feel like Robin wouldn't want to actually kill Matthew.


	34. The Ambulance

“Robin!”

Cormoran’s eyes wrenched open, and the words tore at his throat.

“Robin! Where’s Robin?”

“I’m right here.” He looked up and there she was, backlit and glowing, her soft hand stroking his hair. _Was he dead?_ No, her left hand was in a splint, and she had tape over the bridge of her nose.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in an ambulance.” She spoke with a heavy lisp and her front teeth were gone.

“You’re hurt,” he said.

“No, I’m fine,” Robin said, “You’re the one who’s hurt.”

“Was I... asleep?” he asked. His brain felt loose and floppy, like a deflated balloon.

“You fainted. They gave you some pretty intense painkillers, too.”

Cormoran looked at the IV in his arm.

"'M I high?"

"You're painless, is what you are," a paramedic chimed in.

“Who’re you?” Cormoran asked.

“My name is Raul. Can you tell me where exactly you were hit?”

Cormoran tried to remember.

“My knee... And my other knee, too. My shin. My foot. And my shoulder. And that's all.”

“On a scale of zero to ten, zero being no pain and ten being the worst pain of your life, how would you rate your pain right now?”

Cormoran thought about this for a long time. He wrinkled his brow and blinked at Robin, as if for help. She shrugged.

“Mm. Four?”

Raul made a note on a clipboard. Cormoran turned back to Robin.

“Robin?”

“Yes?”

“And I going to lose my other leg?”

“I don’t think so.”

He reached out a hand, brushing his fingers along her stomach.

“Do they know you’re pregnant?” he asked.

The three paramedics in the ambulance turned and stared at Robin. Robin stared at Cormoran.

“What?” she asked.

“Matthew said… No periods… Getting fat… Dizzy… He said you were...”

“Matthew thought I was pregnant?”

Understanding dawned on her face and she held out her arm to demonstrate, pushing down on a spot halfway between her elbow and her armpit. Beneath her skin Cormoran could see some sort of implant, about the size of a matchstick. His eyes widened.

“What the fuck?” He turned to Raul. “She’s got something in her arm! You have to help her!”

“It’s not dangerous, Corm,” Robin said, “It’s called Nexplanon, and it’s a birth control implant. It releases small amounts of hormones over a period of time so I won’t get pregnant. Unfortunately the side effects are very similar to the signs of pregnancy. I’ve had it for a few months now, but I didn't tell Matthew. He didn't know.”

“You’re not…?”

“I’m not pregnant.”

Cormoran felt relief pouring over him. He shut his eyes.

“Oh thank God,” he murmured, “Thank Christ.”

Robin curled her fingers around his and held his hand in her lap.

“Where’s Matthew?” he asked, “And Charlotte?”

“They’re in separate ambulances. They’re both still alive, but in bad shape.”

“Where’s Baby?”

A shadow of deep grief flickered across Robin’s face.

“Animal Control took her. I told them that she was protecting me. I told them that Charlotte was trying to kill you. I hope they listened.” Cormoran squeezed her hand.

“I’m sorry.”

Robin shrugged and squeezed his hand.

“You’re alive, that’s all that matters.”

Her nose was squashed in and the front of her mouth was a gummy red hole with jagged bits of tooth sticking out in every direction. Cormoran reached up and gently ran a thumb across her lower lip. Robin leaned into his touch, too tired to hide how much she wanted it.

“Are you hurting?” he asked.

“Not badly. I look frightful though.”

Cormoran sighed and closed his eyes. When he spoke the words drifted up from the deepest part of his soul.

“Robin… You are… perfection…”

  



	35. Meet the Parents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a general information chapter. Gotta have it.

Linda Ellacott never turned off her cellphone. It was a subject of great contention between her and her husband, though they were able to joke about it. She insisted that her phone stay on all the time, even in movies or on romantic dinner dates, “in case of emergency”. She credited this quirk to having four children.

So when Robin called at 1 in the morning on October 10th, Linda picked up on the first ring.

“Robin? What happened?” she asked.

“Mummy…” Robin didn’t know how to start, unable to wrap her mind around the past 24 hours.

“Are you okay? Are you safe?”

“Matthew… Matthew…” The realization of what happened hit Robin like a bus, and she started to cry heavy breathless sobs.

“Where are you baby?”

“I’m at-at the hos-hos-hospital.”

“We’ll be there as soon as we can.” Linda shook her husband awake. He sat up blearily and she shifted the phone away from her mouth. “Michael, dear, we’re going to London. Pack some clothes.”

“No, Mum,” Robin said, controlling herself enough to speak, “Stephen’s wedding is barely a week away, you can’t leave now, he needs your help-”

“Do you need my help?”

“Yes, but you can’t afford-”

“Do you want me to come?”

“Yes, but-”

“We’ll be there by morning,” Linda said, “Now, tell me what happened.”

 

 

 

Coco found Robin in the waiting room, her head in her hands. She sat down next to her.

“I know you have a million questions,” Robin said without looking up, “But I just went over it all with my mom, and then I went over it again with the police, and can it just… Can it just wait until morning? I just can’t go over it again. Not right now.”

Coco was quiet. Then she asked,

“How is he?”

“They’re preparing him for surgery now. He broke eleven bones and dislocated his shoulder. Both of his menisci are torn. Both femurs have hairline fractures, but they’re hoping that those will heal on their own and won’t need screws.”

“Will he ever walk again?”

“Too soon to say, although they’re hopeful that he’ll be back on his foot by February. He won’t be able to use the prosthetic for a long time, maybe ever. Thankfully Matthew didn’t realize just how unwieldy sledgehammers are. Most of the blows were glancing.”

Coco took this information in stride, without too much shock, for which Robin was grateful.

“And you? How are you?” Coco asked.

“I’m breathing, aren’t I?”

“That’s not much of an answer.”

“Earlier this evening I had paramedics picked tooth shards out of my cheeks with tweezers and put them in a little evidence baggy. It’s the only answer I can give right now.”

“I’m sorry.”

Robin shrugged, then sighed.

“I sprained my wrist pretty bad,” she said, “I broke my nose and my palette, but those will either heal themselves or they won’t. My front teeth are gone, obviously.”

"You look like a real street scrapper."

“Baby attacked a woman,” Robin said, her chin trembling, “I don’t know what to do. If they put her down because of me…”

“That’s not going to happen,” Coco said, “She was defending you, you were being attacked.”

“Allegedly. Who knows what sort of bullshit Charlotte and Matthew are going to spin.”

“It’s not going to happen. We’ll call the press. We’ll call lawyers. We’ll hold a benefit burlesque show. We’re going to get Baby back.” 

Robin reached over and grabbed her friend’s hand.

"Thanks." 

“Eric says that they’ll be searching your flat,” Coco continued.

Robin was confused for a moment before realizing that Coco was talking about detective Wardle.

“Yes, I suppose they will.”

“Do you need some place to stay while they do? I assume you won’t want to be around. I don’t actually know how long that sort of thing takes.”

“The flat isn't a crime scene, so I wouldn’t even need to leave, really. But I don’t much feel like going back there, anyways. My parents are coming to help out, so I’ll probably stay in their hotel room before going back to Masham for my brother’s wedding. That’s next week.”

“Can you leave town? Don’t they need to question you and such?”

“Wardle and I discussed it. I’ll have to wear a tracker.”

“Like a house arrest ankle bracelet? That’s classy. We’ll have to bedazzle it.”

Robin couldn’t manage a smile, but she appreciated Coco’s attempts at lightning the mood. Before she could answer, the door flew open and there were her parents, wild-eyed and pale and road-weary, and Robin felt like she was four years old again. Her face crumpled, and she ran into her parents’ arms.


	36. Whose Are You?

 

Robin went with her parents as they checked into their hotel room. They took a quick nap while Robin took a long scalding hot shower. 

She sat on the shower floor and let the last of the blood run off her face and down the drain. She watched the water run down her breasts and off her nipples in little waterfalls, and thought about who she belonged to. She had been Matthew’s for so long, she could barely remember what it felt like to be the sole owner of her body. She remembered being a giggly teenager and writing “Mrs. Robin Cunliffe” on her diary in curly letters surrounded by hearts. He had been her first kiss, her first date, her first love. Matthew had been the only man to see her completely naked since she hit puberty. Even Chappelle hadn’t undressed her completely. She had taken comfort in this fact after she had been raped; Chappelle had violated her in the most personal way, but he hadn’t robbed her of all intimacy, there were still things that belonged only to her and Matthew, things Matthew had seen that Chappelle had never touched. Now Robin wanted to tear her skin off. She wanted to take it all back, everything she had ever said or done or thought with Matthew, every memory they had shared, every milestone, anniversary, and holiday, she wanted to burn it all to the ground. But where was she then? Matthew had been her entire life for so long, who was she without him? She stared at the water spiraling down into the drain and couldn’t think of an answer.

After she got out of the shower Robin got breakfast with her parents, where they discussed her teeth and her wrist and how everything was going to work together logistically. Robin was glad that they didn’t try to dig any deeper than scheduling appointments. They helped her write a script on what to tell people on the phone with as few details as possible, and the morning passed in a haze of phone calls. Coco, Nick and Ilsa, Lucy, Shanker, her lawyer, Animal Control, Wardle, Ishtahar, the dentist; everybody had to be called, everybody had questions. Her dentist was a childhood friend of her father’s and agreed to see her at two in the afternoon to fit her with temporary caps. Coco insisted on driving Robin to the appointment while her parents met with her lawyer. Shanker didn’t answer, which Robin expected and was grateful for. Both Wardle and Animal Control gave her vague, frustrating answers that left her confused. Lucy immediately started hyperventilating and had to breath into a paper bag before Robin could finish telling her Cormoran’s diagnosis. Ishtahar listened quietly, then told Robin not to worry, that she would handle all of the details until things calmed down. Her patience and generosity nearly made Robin break down sobbing again.

 

By ten o’clock she was back on the train to the hospital.

Robin had gone through her awkward homely stage, like all teenagers, with acne and gangly arms and legs and a face that hadn’t entirely grown into itself. But she had never been considered ugly, not by the greatest stretch of the imagination. Average, maybe, if she was tired and hadn’t put on makeup; she could even be called plain on a bad day, but she had never been ugly.

As she rode to the hospital she found herself experiencing a world she had never known before. A world where passengers would rather stand than sit next to her. People flinched when they saw her, but stared as soon as she passed by. They had to tell their children not to point when they saw her. She knew how she looked. Her mouth was a black hole, her nose was twisted and squashed, her face was swollen and mottled in shades of green and purple. She wished that she had brought a scarf, so that she could cover up the worst of it. 

_ You are perfection.  _

Cormoran’s words echoed in her head. She knew that he had been high off his ass. Hell, he’d once thought he was being chased by a bear when on painkillers. But the words still bounced around in her brain, and, after a momentary battle, she let them stay.


	37. Wake Up

  


Cormoran woke up to see Robin eating his hospital-issued applesauce. She quickly put it down as soon as she saw he was awake.

“Hey Bear Man,” she said, “How do you feel?”

“Broken in eleven places.” He looked down at his legs under the blanket. It seemed that he still had the one and a half, but he was too afraid to look. “I, uh. How did it go? The surgery?”

“It went well. The doctor will go over it with you in a bit, I don’t know all the medical terms. They put screws in your fibula and tibula, and had to wire your left patella. They’re hoping that your right patella will grow back together naturally. Your foot is in a boot, but they’re hopeful about the outcomes.”

Cormoran closed his eyes and breathed deep. He couldn’t decide how this news made him feel. He couldn’t believe it, but he wasn’t sure if he had expected better news or worse.

“Robin, could you… Could you look? For me?”

“It’s fine, Corm. It’s still there. It’s just in a cast.”

“I know, but could you just look anyways?”

There was a vulnerability in his eyes that Robin had never seen before. He looked like a little boy afraid of monsters under the bed.

“Of course. Of course I will.” She walked over to the feet of his bed and carefully lifted the thin blanket to see underneath. His legs were covered in clean white casts up to where they disappeared under his hospital gown.

“It’s just casts,” she said, “That’s all.”

“Everything is still… there?”

“One and a half, same as before.”

Confident that there would be no surprises, Cormoran pulled back the blanket himself and examined them himself. The casts were spotlessly white, and put across a cool clean feeling that calmed him. He knew that they were covering nothing but a painful mess, but the crisp hygiene of them made him feel like maybe he would get out of them okay.

“When I lost my leg…” Cormoran stopped to gather his thoughts. Robin looked at him curiously. He rarely talked about that time. “I knew that I’d lost it, of course, but every time they pulled off the sheet it was a surprise. I could still feel it, with phantom limb, it itched and cramped and I could sense it lying under the blanket. So I would forget that it was gone, and then when I saw it, it was always brand new. Always the same shock and horror, and surprise. You learn to… stop trusting things, I guess. You stop trusting your own body.”

“Do you still get phantom limb?”

“Rarely. I got treatment for it.”

Robin nodded.

Cormoran sighed and pulled the blanket back over himself. He looked at the applesauce on the table, then narrowed his eyes at Robin.

“Is that my applesauce?” he asked.

She shot him a guilty look.

“Jesus,” he joked, “You steal an cripple’s applesauce while he’s unconscious.”

“Sorry. I didn’t eat much, just a few spoonfuls. You can have the rest.”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t much like applesauce,” he lied, “You have all you want.”

“Thanks. I’ve eaten nothing but pudding for the past twenty-four hours, and it was starting to get old.”

“I imagine. How are the teeth?”

“I’m not in much pain, though I can’t do hot and cold, and the inside of my mouth is completely shredded. I’m going to the dentist this afternoon.”

“What time is it anyways?”

“Twelve forty-five.”

“Christ.” He tried scooting up in bed and yelped in pain. Robin hurriedly pressed the button that moved his bed into a sitting position.

“Lucy will be glad to hear that you’re awake. She got here even before I did, and has been pacing about your room all morning. I finally sent her out to get some lunch.”

“Thank you. I don’t think I could handle her anxiety right now.”

“That’s the job of family. They come when you’re in trouble.”

“I suppose.”

“I called my mum to tell her the news and they both drove up from Masham.”

“What!”

“Yes, they’re here now, picking up some painkillers for my wrist. They wanted to come in and see you, but I told them to wait.”

“To see me? Why on earth would they want to see me?”

Robin shrugged.

“To wish you get well soon, I suppose. They like you.”

Cormoran found this supremely unlikely. After all, he was the one who had incited Matthew’s jealousy, he was the one who rehired Robin, he was the one who constantly put her in dangerous situations. Not to mention he had broken a very expensive vase at their daughter’s wedding. He didn’t want to argue about it, though, so he let it slide.

“The doctors say that you’ll probably be in here for about a week,” Robin said, “So I went by your apartment and got you some things.”

Cormoran raised his eyebrows. Normally the thought of somebody, even one of his closest friends, poking around his apartment would leave him sweaty and uncomfortable, but with Robin it just felt like another normal thing for her to do.

“I know you don’t like people in there, so I didn’t snoop around too much,” she said, as if she had read his mind, “Just the essentials.” She opened up a duffel bag at her feet and took out a toothbrush and toothpaste, a comb, some razors, his laptop computer, and a paperback copy of Faithful Place. “I saw this book on your bedside table so I assumed you were reading it. I figure you might get a bit bored here. I also brought some clothes. I got your dressing gown as well as some shirts and sweaters and underpants.” She tried to keep her voice flat and professional, but couldn’t hide her flush. “The doctor says you won’t be wearing trousers for a while, but I couldn’t find any shorts.”

“I hate shorts.”

“Yes, you don’t seem like the type.”

“I’ll just wear a kilt from now on.”

Robin smiled, then remembered how hideous her mouth looked and covered her teeth with her hand.

“You don’t have to do that with me,” Cormoran said, “I don’t care about your teeth.”

“I hope that the dentist can get replacements on today. Stephen’s wedding is a week from Saturday, and I’d rather not look like I just got hit by a train.”

“I forgot about that. You’re going to Masham, then?”

“Just for a day.”

“I thought you planned on taking four full days off.”

“Yes, but that was before.” Cormoran raised his eyebrows. “Look, there’s going to be so much work to be done, and you’ll need help around, you can’t get to and from your flat or the office in a chair...”

“Robin.” She looked at him. “Take four days.”

“But-”

“Robin. Go home.”

Robin sighed, and Cormoran caught a flash of anger in her eyes.

“It’s going to be a barrel of laughs, isn’t it,” she said, “Celebrating a wedding. Surrounded by old friends and family asking about my own marriage.”

“Take four days, get out of this city, get some rest. See your family. I’m going to be fine. We’re all going to be fine.”

Robin was about to protest more when the Lucy came rushing in, looking like she’d been struck by lightning.

“Stick!” she said, “Stick, my poor baby, don’t you ever scare me like that again!”

Robin gave Cormoran a small smile.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” she said, “Coco will be here soon anyways to take me to the dentist.”

She was almost out the door when Cormoran called her name.

“I almost forgot,” he said, “Your birthday gift. It’s in the top left drawer of my desk.”


	38. Michael Ellacott

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is crazy so this one is short, but I'm trying to finish another chapter real fast. So you might get two tomorrow. I was hoping to be able to give you guys something really dramatic and emotionally charged as a Christmas gift, but there's still a few logistics to get out of the way. Maybe I'll add something fun in, though. Anyways, you guys are so wonderful, I am grateful for all of your comments. You make me so happy, and really embody the Christmas spirit. So I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas, and if you don't celebrate Christmas I hope you have a wonderful Monday.

Michael Ellacott hadn't been lying when he'd said that he wanted to see Cormoran. He was meeting with Robin’s lawyer later in the afternoon, and he wanted to go in with a full picture of what went on. However, seeing Cormoran wasn’t the only reason he was at the hospital.

He wondered about the odds that both Cormoran and Matthew were staying at the same hospital. When he'd first learned that Matthew was so nearby he had been furious. It seemed like an egregious breach of security to have them in such close proximity. Now, though, standing over Matthew’s bed in the ICU, he knew that his son-in-law wouldn't be able to do much of anything for a long time. Matthew had a heavy bandage over his head and half of his hair was shaved. He looked small and peaceful in bed, and Michael remembered the first time they’d met, when Matthew was still a skinny teenager who hadn’t grown into his long legs. Matthew had come to pick Robin up for a school dance. Robin had been shaking with excitement. Michael had tried to play the part of a stern father, but Robin’s ebullient joy had been contagious and Michael found it impossible to be anything but happy.

A nurse and a doctor came in to take Matthew’s vital signs, but had paused when they saw Michael.

“Can I help you?” the nurse said.

“Yes, sorry, my name is Michael. I’m this young man’s father-in-law.”

“Good to meet you, Michael.”

“How’s he doing?”

“It’s going to be a long road,” the doctor said, “And until he wakes up, there’s no telling how significant the damage is. But the surgery was fairly routine, so we’re hoping for the best.”

Michael nodded. He wondered how a traumatic brain injury would impact a court case.

“Could I leave a get-well note? For when he wakes up?”

The two women shared a glance, then agreed that he could. Michael took an index card and a pen of his pocket and thought a moment. Then he wrote,

_Matthew:_

_I sincerely hope that you have a quick recovery._

_At this time you are still my son-in-law. I have known you for a long time now, ever since you were a teenager. I’ve watched you grow up, mature, turn into the man you are today. So I believe that I still owe you one piece of good advice. And that advice is this:_

_Get a good lawyer. The best you can. Because we’re coming for you with everything we’ve got._

_Get well soon,_

_Michael Ellacott_

_PS: Robin wants a divorce_

He folded the card in half and carefully slipped it under Matthew’s pillow. Then he thanked the nurse and the doctor and left.

 

 

Robin didn’t know what to say to Coco as they drove to the dentist. Where do you begin? Her mind was in a tight messy knot that she had barely begun to examine, let alone untangle.

Finally Coco broke the silence.

“I like this toothless look,” she said, “It makes you look really badass. I think you need a street name.”

“A street name? Like Bond or Stratford?”

“No, like a gangster name. I once dated an American whose street name was The Mississippi Finger Licker. And let me tell you, he earned it.” Coco winked slowly. Robin ignored this.

“So like Shanker or Bunsen?”

“I suppose.”

“What’s yours?”

“Cocoloco.” She looked at Robin with a critical eye. “You could be… Mad Maxwell.”

“Maxwell? Seriously? That’s one of the least badass names.”

“Bang Bang Maxwell’s Silver Hammer,” Coco said.

“If we’re going to go on a hammer theme I want to be Thor.”

“You could be… Fire Crotch Cunliffe.”

Robin found herself laughing for the first time since the previous morning. The feeling pinched and strained inside her, but she laughed anyways, laughed in spite of everything. It hurt, and it would hurt for a long time, and she let it hurt, and she laughed.

 


	39. Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! I hope everybody had a wonderful day. Thinking about gifts today. Having the opportunity to write and have people read and respond is such an important gift for me. And you guys are always so supportive! I mean you think anonymous internet postings and you immediately think about neo-nazis and fat-shaming. But you guys are such a wonderful community. You keep me motivated and inspired. I'm so glad I discovered this place.

 

The dentist was kind and understanding. Robin wasn’t sure how much her father told him, but he didn’t ask her about what had happened. He just went straight to work on her teeth. Sitting under his lamp, the needle pinching and numbing her lips, Robin was unable to distract herself anymore. All morning she had been on the phone, scheduling, planning, moving,  her thoughts robotic and surface-level. Now she couldn’t help the silent tears that ran down her face and into her ears. 

Doctor Granger took it in stride. After determining that she was not actually in pain, he distracted her by telling her the story about how he met his wife, a narcoleptic who was always falling and breaking her teeth.

“She must have come in three times for this same procedure,” he said, “It took me ages to finally get the guts to ask her out.” By the time Robin’s temporary false teeth were on, she was able to manage a weak but genuine smile of thanks.

 

Coco dropped Robin off at the office.

“Before you go I have to give you your birthday gift,” she said. 

Robin was surprised. She didn’t remember telling Coco her birthday, and she certainly hadn’t expected a gift.

“You didn’t have to-”

“I know,” Coco said, “But it turns out I like you a lot.”

Robin was so touched that for a moment she thought she might start crying again. 

“I like you too.”

Coco went around and took a large package out of the trunk of the car. The wrapping paper was in pieces, held together with what looked like half a roll of tape. Robin opened it and gasped.

It looked like a thousand stars, and Robin lifted it out of the box tenderly. It was a silver lamé burlesque costume, covered in sequins and rhinestones and a beaded fringe that came down to mid-thigh and sparkled like a heavy rain.

“It’s too much,” Robin breathed, “Where on earth did you find this?”

“I got it at an antique auction a long time back, but it didn’t fit me, so I just kept it in the back of my closet. I asked Matthew for your wedding dress measurements and it was almost a match. It’s a little bit bigger, unfortunately, but you could probably get it tailored.”

“Oh, I’ve gained weight since my wedding, it will be perfect.” She ran her hands over the fringe in wonder. “But where on earth will I wear it to?”

Coco shrugged.

“Wear it whenever you need to feel special. Wear it washing dishes, for all I care. Wear it to court. Wear it to a stakeout.”

Robin grinned.

“That would be subtle. Cormoran would call that ‘sticking out like a dog’s balls’.”

“I bet he wouldn’t mind you showing up in that outfit.”

Robin snorted and rolled her eyes.

“I’ll admit that Cormoran’s choice in girlfriends does reveal an appreciation for the female form,” she said, “But I guarantee if he saw me in this outfit he would curl up and die of awkwardness.”

“He is a bit shy, isn’t he.”

“He keeps hard and fast boundaries.”

Before Coco could answer, a man in a suit and tie ran up to them, holding his phone out to record her.

“Miss Cunliffe, my name is James Douglas with the Evening Post,” he said, “could I have a word?”

Robin wasn’t surprised. It was only a matter of time before reporters got wind that she and Cormoran were tangled up in some new scandal. She gave Coco a quick squeeze of thanks and ran inside.

 

Ishtahar was at the office when Robin came in, and gave Robin a brief rundown of a new client. Robin and Cormoran were hesitant to take on any new cases, but Robin was willing to make exceptions. The new client was a woman who wanted to find her step-sister. The two girls had been separated when their parents split up, twenty years earlier, and the client had always wanted to get back in tough. Robin thought that it could be a fairly simple case, and something that Cormoran could help with even when confined to a wheelchair. She agreed to meet with the client the next day, hoping that occupying herself with work might distract her from the complete wreckage her life was in. 

“Have you gotten any calls from reporters?” Robin asked.

“Yes, quite a few.”

“What did you tell them?”

“That I’d pass the message along.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

Robin went into Cormoran’s office and opened the upper right-hand drawer on his desk. Sure enough there it was, an envelope and a neatly wrapped little package with her name on it. She opened the package first. Inside was a thin gold chain with a pendant in the shape of a tiny gold moth. She looked at it carefully. It was so delicate she was almost afraid to touch it. Each detail in its wings was so carefully moulded it looked as it might take flight. She wondered at this. Why a moth?

She tore open the envelope, hoping for an explanation. There was no explanation, but there was a receipt for a Krav Maga class on Thursday nights.

 

She sat back at her desk and thought about birthdays.

When she had turned twenty-six, she had received a set of towels, a bottle of perfume, and a pair of pearl earrings. For her twenty-seventh birthday she had received a burlesque costume and a class on Israeli street fighting. 

Twenty-seven was looking like a very interesting year.


	40. The Moth

 

“Then you just type in a name, and there you have it, all their court records,” Robin said. 

It had been four days since the attack and Cormoran was still mostly bedridden, only getting out of bed for twice-daily physical therapy and when his visitors wheeled him around the halls. Robin was sitting next to him on the bed, trying to teach him the intricacies of tracking a person online. Usually it was her job to navigate their online resources, but now that she was the only one who could properly tail somebody, it was up to Cormoran to do the more sedentary tasks. He was decent enough at the basics of internet tracking, but hazy on the details of various databases. When they had become partners, Robin had invested in a subscription to several websites that gave access to court records. 

“See, there you can see that Mad Mum has, in fact, married again,” she said, "Case closed."

“So this is how you always find things out before me,” Cormoran said.

“I’m giving away all my secrets.”

Cormoran was glad to hear Robin speaking in a casual tone. She wasn’t so emotionally destroyed that she could no longer make a joke. But he was worried about her. The effects of PTSD were beginning to show around Robin’s careful professional cover. Cormoran was well acquainted with the ins and outs of Post Traumatic Stress. He knew that it was a spectrum, like any anxiety disorder, and that it could be dealt with and overcome. He knew that more mild cases were fairly easy to manage, and sometimes seemed to go away on their own. She was living proof of this, having gotten past her agoraphobia after being raped. He knew that Robin wasn’t about to start screaming and hiding under beds, believing that the nurses were the Vietcong, but he couldn’t help but worry about her. She forgot words in the middle of sentences, she had massive bags under her eyes, and she jumped at every loud noise. 

Cormoran knew these things because he felt them, too. Under the haze of pain that always surrounded him, Cormoran could feel the deep pounding fear, still there, waiting for him to fall asleep. The doctors said that he was making incredible progress with his legs, and that he would be back home (wherever that meant) in no time. His arm was still immobilized, but they were hoping that as soon as his shoulder healed enough to push a wheelchair he would be free to go. In his mind, however, he was far from a recovery. In his mind he was in free fall. In his mind he had never been rescued, and he was tumbling off that roof, no support, no safety net, and the lurch in his belly never went away. 

Robin scooted closer so that he could better see the screen, and her warm arm against his pulled him back into reality.

“If you click here, you can organize them according to date, or according to the type of court record, whichever is more convenient,” she said.

She leaned forward and her necklace swung forward. 

“You’re wearing your birthday present,” he said, pleased.

“I wear it every day,” Robin said, “I love it.” She turned to him. “I’ve been wondering, though. Why a moth?”

Cormoran shrugged with his good shoulder.

“I saw it in a shop and thought of you.” 

Robin looked at him, expecting more of an explanation. He looked down at his hands. 

“I've always loved moths," he said, "I think they're beautiful. They help flowers grow, and pollinate even more than butterflies, sometimes, because the pollen sticks to their fur. They have amazing camouflage skills. They’re nocturnal, but they love the light. I don’t know, I saw it, and I guess… For some reason I just thought of you."

Robin smiled.

“Well I love it,” she said, and went back to the computer. 

When she thought he wasn’t looking, however, she cut her eyes back to him. He was focused on the screen, his brow furrowed. He had four days’ worth of beard that he scratched at mindlessly as he read. Sleeplessness made his eyes look even deeper-set than usual. The bridge of his nose was a jagged zig-zag from all the times it had been broken, and Robin had a sudden bizarre urge to trace it with her finger, to touch all the ridges and crags of his face, to feel his warm skin moving under her hand.

“What’re you looking at?” Cormoran asked. Robin jumped and blushed scarlet.

“Nothing. Just spacing out, I guess.”


	41. Meet the Lawyers

Robin and her parents had decided on rehiring Doctor Chan as their lawyer for the case, and Ilsa offered to help wherever she could, so a meeting was held with all parties to discuss plans and tactics. 

“Mister Cunliffe has woken up from his coma," Doctor Chan announced, "but he is still struggling with memory loss and slurred speech. Charlotte Ross is speaking for both of them, claiming that Cormoran and Robin were having an affair and tried to kill Miss Ross and Matthew so that they might be together.”

Robin was drinking and choked, spitting water down her chest.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Linda said, “There’s no way that could hold up in court.”

“I’m not so sure,” Cormoran said grimly, “Charlotte can be very convincing when she wants to be,” 

“Indeed.” Chan said, “It doesn’t help that Robin’s fingerprints are on the hammer, and the dog’s bite marks perfectly align with Miss Ross’s wounds.”

“Of course they did, Baby was defending me!” Robin said.

“We know that,” Doctor Chan said calmly, “And we have the truth on our side. We will also have a good amount of evidence on our side, as soon as DNA comes in. When we can put your skin cells and blood on the zip-ties, it will be much harder for them to claim self-defense.”

“When will that be?” Michael asked.

“About three weeks. These things take time.”

Robin shut her eyes and exhaled. 

“What do we do until then?” Cormoran asked.

“Don’t give them anything to work with. They're going to say that you were having an affair, so prove the opposite. Keep your relationship completely professional in public.”

“We are professional,” Cormoran said, “Our relationship is completely platonic.”

“We’re coworkers,” Robin added, “Nothing more.”

“Then it won’t be too hard. Cross paths only when necessary. Miss Ellacott is going back to Masham for the weekend, which will be good. I know that you have to work together, it’s your job, but I will recommend not meeting more than necessary. Don’t go out for dinner or drinks, don’t even hug goodbye.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Robin said, “I’m not going to give Matthew what he wants. His whole goal was to keep Corm and I from working together, and I’ll be damned if he gets away with it.”

Linda reached out and squeezed Robin’s hand.

“Robin, honey, remember last time…” she said.

She didn’t need to say more. Shortly before she was raped, the Student Health Center at Robin’s University had handed out free condoms to all passers-by. Robin had taken them mindlessly and shoved them into her purse, then forgotten all about it.  Chappell’s lawyer had used later used these three condoms as evidence that she had been a promiscuous party girl who had been expecting sex that night. And here she was again, years later, being watched and judged and picked apart by men in suits. Tears bloomed up under her eyelids.

“What does it matter how I act around Cormoran?” she said, “Everybody thinks we’re doing it anyways.” She looked around the room. “Do you know just how hard I try?” she asked, making eye contact with every person at the table. “I have tried so fucking hard to defend our relationship, to prove that we aren’t shagging, to prove that he’s my coworker and nothing more, but none of it matters. Nobody listens. Nobody trusts me. No matter how hard I try to be a good person, to follow the rules, to dress and talk and act in the acceptable ways, none of it matters because everybody is still going to assume that I just run around fucking anything with a dick, and it makes me so ANGRY, I’m just ANGRY ALL THE TIME!” She slammed her fist down on the table.

The room was silent. Nobody met her eye. She looked at her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Cormoran said, “And you don’t have to say you didn’t mean it when you did.”

He waited for her to respond, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. Then he turned to Ilsa.

“What about Baby?” he asked. The room visibly relaxed at the change in topic.

“Baby is currently undergoing Temperament Testing,” Ilsa said, “If she passes, she will be allowed to return to your custody until the official hearing, as long as she remains in a closed-off area, like in your house or in a fenced yard.”

“And the official hearing?” Robin asked.

“It’s complicated, as her innocence depends on Charlotte’s guilt. So it won’t be until after the trial.”

“And if we lose?” Robin asked.

“We won’t lose,” Chan said, “We’ve won before. We can win again. You’re innocent, and it will show.”


	42. Hen Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot happens very quickly here, but I think I like this one anyways. May go back and edit it later, but right now I'm glad with where it's at. Oh, also: Is it actually called a hen party? I'm used to calling it a bachelorette party, but google said that in the UK it's a hen party. I don't know if that's like a "pip pip cheerio" type thing, like how in the states we're not all like "Y'all are jonesing to get hyphy!" (Except for me. I'd absolutely say that).

 

Cormoran and Robin took Doctor Chan’s advice, and saw each other only when work required it. When they did talk, it was about clients and cases. They didn’t touch. They didn’t smile. And at night they laid in their separate beds and stared at the ceiling and didn’t sleep.

 

Cormoran was released into the care of Nick Herbert on Tuesday, October seventeenth. On the eighteenth, Robin left for Masham.

 

Coming home felt strange. Her brothers had hurriedly taken any photos of Matthew down off the walls, which meant that there were very few photos of Robin, either, after her teenage years. Prom, Christmases, graduation, everything was photographed arm-in-arm with Matthew. The house looked as if the family’s daughter had died at sixteen; there was no record of her afterwards. Robin felt like the ghost of that child, wandering around the old house, not feeling anything, not saying anything, trapped in her own head.

The whole place was buzzing with preparations for the wedding, and Robin watched from a distance. Dresses and suits and accessories hung on every chair, flowers were piled in the shower and the sinks, and Robin couldn’t sit without first moving several place cards and bridal magazines. The house was filled to capacity. It was the final fitting for the bridesmaids so there were girls everywhere, flitting around like exotic butterflies, never staying in one place for anything longer than an introduction and a “nice to meet you”. Robin knew Stephen’s fiancée Stella well enough, but had no idea who the other members of the bridal party were. The other bridesmaids had known each other since their teens. They moved with a hive mind: what one thought the others acted. Though they were all very kind and welcoming, Robin felt like she was always one step off.

She tried on her bridesmaid dress in her mother’s room. Stella had been very open minded as far as the bridesmaid dresses went, giving the women a general color palette and letting them choose whatever they wanted from there. Robin appreciated this. She had chosen a chiffon maxidress in deep burgundy-red, with a wide flowing skirt and short capped sleeves. She had loved it when she had bought it, but now the color seemed violent.

“You look beautiful,” Linda said.

“I look like I’ve been dipped in blood.”

Linda sighed.

“You don’t have to go to the hen do tonight,” she said, “Nobody would think any less of you-”

“I can go,” Robin said, “I’m going to have to sit through a whole wedding, right? A hen do isn’t going to trigger me any more than the ceremony itself. I need to get used to it, anyways. Ease my way in.”

“Stella said it’s going to be really casual. Just going out dancing.”

“Too bad," Robin said, "I could use a stripper.”

 

So Robin found herself in a limousine headed to Club Louis in Catterick Garrison, wearing a crop top with the words BRIDAL SQUAD written across it in loopy gold script. The girls passed around a bottle of champagne and cheered at things Robin couldn’t quite follow. She wondered where they got their enthusiasm. She wondered how they could squeal so high without their voices going out. She wondered if any of them were as miserable as her.

When Robin stepped into the club she felt like she was stepping into a seizure. The heavy beat pounded the walls and the music pressed in on her skin from every direction. It was oppressively hot and smelled like bodies and sex and desperation. The women all went to the bar in a giggling flock and ordered sweet girly drinks with raunchy names. Robin ordered a Rosé and listened to their chattering with one ear, raising her glass robotically whenever they made a toast, telling her mouth to smile. Stella’s maid of honor pulled Stella out onto the dance floor. Stella immediately bend down and grabbed her ankles, waving her ass in the air. The rest of the girls shrieked and ran to join in. _Why were they always shrieking?_

Robin stayed at the bar and sipped at her drink.

“The lady will have a Bacardi Limonade,” said a voice behind Robin, “And a Jameson for me.”

Robin turned to see a Henry Cavill look-alike sliding onto the stool next to her.

“Let me guess: always a bridesmaid, never a bride?” he said.

“Actually no," Robin said, "I am a bride. I’m married.”

“I don’t see a ring," he countered.

“Yes, well, my husband is in a coma,” she said, “He tried to kill my boss, so I crushed his skull with a hammer.”

She held out her ankle to show Drake her tracking bracelet.

“So you could say that we’re going through a rough patch." The bartender brought her a Bacardi Limonade.

“Thanks for the drink, though.”

The man’s smile was plastered on and he looked like a confused puppy. Robin laughed.

“Right, well…” He slowly backed away. “Good luck.”

Robin smiled and sipped her drink. It was quite good. She thought she might dance.


	43. Reunion

Ilsa was at Baby’s hearing, Nick was at work, and Cormoran was lying on the couch feeling sorry for himself.  He hadn’t eaten since breakfast five hours earlier, an unheard of event, but he was in too much pain to move. He had spent the morning searching for their client’s step-sister, but it seemed that the girl had taken every care to go unfound, leaving no trace after exiting the foster system at age eighteen. It reminded him too much of kids he had known as a kid, girls who protected themselves from sexual abuse with layers of insulating fat, who jumped when anybody said their names and wore long sleeves on the hottest days, who grew quieter and quieter until they stopped talking altogether. Lucy had come so close to this, nearly slipping away completely under Whittaker’s gaze. Cormoran thought about this until his mind tangled up with “what ifs” and he found himself in a spiraling dark maze. So when his phone buzzed he answered immediately.

“Strike speaking.”

“Mister Strike, it’s Linda. Linda Ellacott.”

“Hello Mrs. Ellacott, is everything alright?”

“Well…” Her voice went high and trailed off.

“Is Robin okay? Is she safe?”

“Yes, she’s safe, she’s just…” Linda sighed. “She went to Stella’s bachelorette party last night-- Stella is my future daughter-in-law, who’s getting married on Saturday to my son Stephen--”

“Right.”

“Anyways, I guess Robin got drunk, and she was dancing with the other girls, and some young squaddie tried to dance with her in, well, in an ungentlemanly fashion... I guess he grabbed her and started, well, grinding against her…”

Cormoran’s hand clenched around his phone.

“What happened?” he growled.

“Well, I guess she just started screaming.”

“Screaming at the man?”

“I’m not quite sure. They say that she wasn’t screaming words, she was just... screaming. They said it was like somebody was torturing her. She wouldn’t stop, she just stood there screaming until Stella dragged her into a cab and brought her home.”

“I see.”

“Now she’s locked herself in her room and she won’t come out for anybody. She’s not eating, she’s not speaking. I haven’t heard her laugh in so long. It’s like- it’s like- all over again.”

“I’m sorry,” Cormoran said. He didn’t know what else to say.

“Mister Strike, I’d do anything, anything at all, to make my daughter happy again. And I think I know the only thing that can.”

  


When a star dies, it leaves behind a black hole, which is the small, dark, extremely condensed remnant of the star’s core. When matter is condensed so tightly, the gravitational pull increases until even light cannot exist. Because there is no light, black holes are invisible to the naked eye.

It was invisible, but Robin could feel it. She could feel the black hole sinking down behind her eyes, dense and howling. Her mind was one long scream, drowning out all thoughts, drowning out all feelings, until everything blended together into static. No other sound could get through the wall of noise, not her family pounding at her door, not Rowntree whining in the hallway, not even her own thoughts. She wasn't aware of time or place. She wasn't aware of anything but her own pain. She laid face-first on the bed, still in her BRIDAL SQUAD crop top and sequined mini-skirt. She felt the gravity of the black hole pulling her deeper and tighter, completely alone.

Then, somewhere in the dense darkness, she heard something. A snuffling, the click of nails on hardwood floor, a low bark, deeper than Rowntree’s.

Robin sat up in bed.

It couldn’t be.

She tiptoed over to the door and put her ear to the crack. There was a whimper on the other side. She opened the door tentatively and was bowled over by an avalanche of tongue and tail and happy dog.

She wrapped her arms around Baby and didn’t know if she was laughing or crying, she just wailed. Baby ran in circles around her, yipping and licking her face.

Cormoran watched them from the doorway. Baby’s tail was a blur, and she put her paws on Robin’s shoulders, dancing.

Finally both Robin and Baby calmed down enough for Robin to look up. Her jaw dropped.

“Corm?”

“Hi.”

“What are you doing here? How did you get Baby?” She looked at his wheelchair. “How did you get up all of those stairs?”

“Baby passed her behavioral testing. She still has to go back for the hearing in a few months, but until then she’s allowed to be indoors or in a fenced-off area. I figured she might be happier in a big area like Masham than cooped up in your flat.” Robin watched Baby bound around the room and had to agree.

“As for how I got up those stairs,” he continued, “All of your brother’s groomsmen helped carry me, chair and all. It was probably the least dignified I’ve ever been in my life.”

The corner of Robin’s mouth twitched up in what could almost be a smile.

“I hope they didn’t hurt you,” she said.

“Nah, they were careful. Treated me like the bloody Queen Mother, actually.”

“So why are you here? You heard Doctor Chan, we’re not supposed to see each other outside of work. Traveling five hours to bring me my dog is hardly professional behavior.”

“I came for a number of reasons. Firstly, Baby couldn’t stay at Nick and Ilsa’s, Nick is allergic. Secondly, your mother called and said that you were having a rough go of it. Thirdly, I love Nick and Ilsa but their couch is shit to sleep on.”

“If my mother made you come all the way down here, I swear…” Robin said, narrowing her eyes.

“Lastly,” Cormoran continued, “And most importantly. I guess…” He swallowed. “I guess I missed you. Quite significantly.”


	44. Talk About It

 

“So how are you?” Cormoran asked.

“I’m fine,” she said, turning away. Cormoran followed her into her room and shut the door behind him.

“Robin. You’ve been in here for nearly twenty-four hours. You’re not fine. Neither one of us is fine. Nothing about this situation is fine.”

Robin shrugged and sat on the bed, wrapping her arms around her shoulders.

“You have to talk to me,” Cormoran said, “Come on, you’re the psychology major. You know that the only way this is going to get better is by talking about it.”

Robin couldn’t look him in the eye. Baby jumped into her lap.

“I can’t,” she said. “I don’t have any words. I’m just… blank inside.”

“Start anywhere. Tell me anything.”

Robin held Baby and stared at a spot on the floor.

Cormoran looked around the room. It was a plain little guest bedroom, with flowered sheets and blue walls. There was a photograph of Robin on a pony up on one wall. In the corner was a dresser and a bookcase full of children's books. Cormoran wheeled over to it and smiled when he saw that a whole shelf was dedicated to Nancy Drew.

“You really liked Nancy Drew,” he said.

“I did. I even wrote my own, when I was very little.”

“Really! Robin Ellacott, writing fanfiction.”

Robin rolled her eyes.

“It was not fanfiction. Please. That term didn’t even exist in the nineties.”

“So what would you call it?”

“Well, Nancy Drew books are unusual, because they don’t have just one author. Caroline Keene is a fake name. So technically it wasn’t fanfiction, it was just fiction.”

“You’ve thought this through.”

“When I was eight I really thought I had a chance at being one of the ghost writers. I wrote a bunch of them. They’re in those composition notebooks there.” She pointed to a stack of notebooks on the bottommost shelf.

Cormoran pulled a few of them out. The titles were written in a child’s scrawl. _Nancy Drew and the Serial Cannibal, Nancy Drew and the Balloon of Cocaine, Nancy Drew and the Suicide Bomber_.

“Jesus, you chose some dark themes.”

“I would sneak downstairs at night and hide behind the sofa while my parents watched TV. It was very educational.”

“Clearly.” He reached down and pulled out a large binder labeled _Robin, Teenage Years_.

“Is this a photo album?” he asked.

“Yes. My mother loves to scrapbook.”

“Can I look at it?”

Robin shrugged.

“If you want to.”

He opened it. There was the same photo that was hanging on the wall of a tiny Robin, grinning from the back of a horse. Underneath it read _Robin and Angus, 1996_.

“He’s a bloody massive animal, isn’t he,” Cormoran said. Robin came around and looked over his shoulder.

“You haven’t been around horses much, have you?” she asked. “He was large for a pony, I suppose.”

He turned the page. There was Robin wrestling with her brothers, putting two of them in a headlock. Next was Robin in a tutu and ballet slippers. Robin and Linda eating ice cream. Robin and brand new Rowntree on Christmas morning. Cormoran felt like he was observing something precious, almost sacred, and he held the album with care.

He turned the page and there was teenage Robin and Matthew, standing stiffly in her drawing room, corsaged and decked out in their best 1999 finery, smiling with the discomfort that only comes with 16-year-olds on dates. Underneath Linda had written _Robin’s first date, 1999_.

“It wasn’t my first date,” Robin said.

“What was your first date?”

“We went to a movie. Toy Story Two. We held hands. I told my parents I was going with friends.”

“Why didn’t you tell them?”

“If I’d told them the truth they would have wanted to meet him, and I didn’t want them to scare him off. I wanted to put off the embarrassment for as long as I could.”

“Did they embarrass you on this date?” Cormoran tapped the photo.

“Oh, absolutely. I was a teenager, madly in love with the most popular boy in my year. I was so terrified that he would come to his senses and leave me for some fitter girl.”

He flipped through the pages of the album. Photo after photo of Robin and Matthew. Ice skating, going to dances, kissing in photo booths, laughing at the beach.

“He was my life for so long,” Robin said, “Now that he’s done this, it’s like he’s ruined all these other memories for me. He was my whole life, basically, besides early childhood. I wish I could just erase him from it all. He spread this poison across all these happy memories. He’s tainted all of it. See this photo?” She pointed to a picture of them sledding. She and Matthew were both laughing, snow clinging to her hair, Matthews arms wrapped around her tenderly.

“I was really happy that day,” she said, “When I think about happiness, that’s always one of the days I think about. But now I can’t think about it without the thought of what he did. It’s like toxic waste, polluting every good and pure memory I have.”

“Nothing is black and white,” Cormoran said, “Especially not people. Nobody is completely good or evil. Even the worst people can have good moments.”

“Even the man who tortured you?”

“Even him.”

Robin was quiet.

The sounds of girls’ shrieking wafted from down the hall, followed by Martin’s cackling laugh. Robin’s younger brother loved having the house full of bridesmaids and was always cracking dirty jokes that make them scream with feigned shock. Listening to them reminded Robin of the night before, and she shut her eyes as a wave of shame crashed over her.

“Your mum told me what happened at the hen night ,” Cormoran said. Robin sat heavily on the bed.

“It was bad,” she murmured, “It was so bad.”

“Sounds like it. Any event that requires that monstrosity of an outfit has got to be bad.”

Robin looked down at her BRIDAL SQUAD crop-top and sequined mini skirt.

“What, you don’t like it?” she said sarcastically.

Cormoran paused. He loved seeing her smooth white stomach and the gentle line of her back, but that had very little to do with the outfit and everything to do with her.

“You wear it well,” he said.

Robin smirked.

"But seriously, Robin," he said, "What happened last night?"

“I don't even know." She fell back onto the bed. "I’m not a particularly angry person, but God. I just lost it last night. I lost it at everybody and everything.”

“You had a good reason.”

“It wasn’t just last night. Lately it’s like everything just makes me boil over. I look at Stella, Stephen’s fiancée, and I get so jealous, just furious. It devours me from the inside.”

“What are you jealous of?” Cormoran asked.

“She’s so excited to be married. She just can’t wait. Everything makes her giggle and jump up and down on her toes. It doesn’t just stop at the wedding, either, she is so thrilled to be Stephen’s wife.” Tears boiled up in her eyes. “I see the life that she has, and the joy that she has, and I don’t know why she gets that and I don’t, and it’s not _fair_ , it’s not so _unfair_.”

She swatted at her tears with her hands.

“This is how the week before my wedding should have been,” she said, “The week before my wedding I could barely get out of bed. I couldn’t look anybody in the eye. I was miserable. The morning of my wedding I cried so hard that the makeup artist had to start all over again. She was pissed.”

“I thought…” Cormoran started, then thought better of it. Robin looked at him.

“What?”

“Nothing. Go on.”

Robin got up on an elbow.

“No, really, what did you think?”

“Well, in the car, on the way to the prison, you said that your wedding was the happiest day of your life. But now I’m realizing that I’m nitpicking at a very inappropriate time.”

Robin smiled.

“It was the happiest day of my life,” she said, “But not because of _Matthew_ . God no. Jesus, I was fucking miserable all morning with him. No, the happiest day wasn't because of Matthew. It was because of  _you_.”


	45. Stella

_“_ Because of _me_?” Cormoran said. He felt like somebody was using his heart as a trampoline.

“Yes, you big ninny.” She sat up. “This job means everything to me. Being an investigator has always been my dream."

"Really?"

"Ever since I was a child I was told that I couldn’t be strong, or tough, or powerful. I was told that law enforcement was for boys. I was laughed at.”

“Even by your parents?”

“They thought it was cute, but never really took it seriously. Then after I was attacked I started talking about it again, but everybody thought it was another coping mechanism and shot concerned looks over the dinner table whenever I brought it up. So I dropped it. Then when the temp agency mistakenly assigned me to you, it was like a message from above.”

Cormoran couldn’t help but agree.

“Of all the temps in all the towns in all the world, you were assigned to me,” he said. Robin grinned.

“There was a reason Matthew hated the job,” she said, “I was happy about something that wasn’t him. I had a confidence that he’d never seen before. I felt powerful. I took risks. I stood up for myself. I felt like myself for the first time since I was very small.”

“God, then I fired you and fucked it all over.”

Robin held his gaze evenly.

“Yes. You did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. And you made up for it. You more than made up for it. God, when I saw you standing there, looking like you’d been hit by a train, bloody and bruised and wrecking havoc on my marriage, that was the happiest I've ever been.”

“The job means that much to you,” Cormoran said.

“The job means everything to me.”

She looked at Cormoran with earnest sincerity, and he knew that he would do everything in his power to keep their partnership intact. He would never jeopardize what they had, not for anything.

  
  


Robin changed out of her bachelorette outfit and put on the most comfortable clothes she owned, then took a deep breath and knocked on Stella's door. Stella opened it.

“Robin!” she said, “You’re up!”

Robin looked at her feet.

“I am. And I’m here to apologize.”

Stella stood aside to let Robin in.

Stella was staying in Stephen’s old room. It was a beautiful room, with dark paneling and yellow walls. Robin’s parents had turned it into a study after Stephen left for University, with a large media station and a set of encyclopedias on one wall. Robin leaned against the computer desk.

Stella looked at her, expectantly.

“I’m sorry,” Robin said, “I’m sorry I ruined your Hen Night. I know that there’s no way to make it up to you, but if there was, I would do it. I feel awful.” She sighed. “I’m going through a hard time, and you know that, but that’s no excuse for my behavior. I really want your wedding to be special. I’m really glad that you’re marrying my brother, and if there’s anything I can do to help out, I’ll do it. Just let me know.”

Stella sat on the bed.

“Has Stephen told you anything about my family?” she asked. Robin was surprised at the turn in conversation.

“Not really. Just the basics.”

“Did he tell you my parents are divorced?”

“He mentioned it, sure. That’s nothing unusual, though.”

“My parents divorced because my mam is a paranoid schizophrenic,” Stella said.

Robin felt like she had missed a step on the stairs. That was the last thing she would have expected from Stella, bland boring Stella, who Martin called “Stodgy Stella” behind her back. Robin had always liked Stella well enough, but had found her about as interesting as television static. She dressed like everyone else, talked like everyone else, blended in with everybody around her.

“I had no idea,” Robin said.

“Yes, well, not many people do. She’s sound now, on her meds. But when I was a kid she was dead mad. I’m sure you’ve seen the type in your work. She tried to hire private investigators many times.”

Robin nodded, thinking guiltily about the nutter drawer.

“She would lock me in the house and not let me out for days and days, because she thought it was too dangerous. And when I would sit trapped in the house for sometimes weeks at a time, I would imagine having this other family, a family where I’d have a bunch of brothers and sisters, and a big yard with a dog.”

Robin could see it now, Stella as a young woman striving for normalcy to cover up her own brokenness. After all, it was what had kept Robin with Matthew after her attack.

“So when I met Stephen, and I met your family, it was bizarre,” Stella said, “It was like stepping into my childhood fantasy. You were like the Von Trapps. And it was everything I ever wanted from a family, you were perfection. And there was a small part of me that was always terrified that someday you would see me for what I truly was, which was this scared, abused little girl, terrified of the outside world.”

Stella spoke in the matter-of-fact tone of somebody who had recited the same words over and over in therapy.

“So I guess when I saw you standing there screaming at the club last night I realized that you’re not all this model Von Trapp family. Instead you’re actually a lot like me. So I’m not mad about last night.”

Robin stared at her fingers, at a loss.

“I’m… I don’t know what to say,” she said, “Thank you.”

“Just don’t start screaming in the middle of the ceremony.”

Robin smiled.

“That won’t be an issue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M EVIL AND I KNOW IT. HAHAHAHAHAHA.  
> Nah, it's good. And it's gonna get EVEN BETTER. I was traveling this weekend with a girl who was super surprising, so I just had to write a character inspired by her, so I wrote this chapter.  
> Happy New Year, y'all. Hopefully 2018 will be better than the shit-show that was 2017 (Although hopefully 2017 wasn't quite as much of a train wreck for y'all in the UK. Having a mad baby in charge of our nuclear weapons made everybody a bit more irritable and snippy around here). Anyways, I adore you all, and I hope that you have a wonderful 2018. You made my 2017 so much brighter.


	46. The Rehearsal Dinner

The next day was awkward, to say the least. Robin tried to stay busy. She folded programs, put sunflowers in mason jars, iced cupcakes for the rehearsal dinner, and avoided eye-contact with the other bridesmaids. Cormoran was sharing Martin’s room downstairs and Linda quickly put him to work tying ribbons around the wedding favors (tiny cacti in pots) and filling little bags with rice to throw. The reception was going to be at Robin’s uncle’s farm, where she had so often spied on weddings as a child. She hadn’t been there in ages, and was looking forward to going back. Matthew had never been there, he had a deep phobia of horses, so it was one of the few places untainted by his memory.  
Stella called Robin aside shortly after lunch and showed her the seating plan for the reception. The family of the bride and groom was to be seated in a long table at the front of the barn, with the rest of the guests seated around small round tables spread throughout.  
“So, Matthew is obviously not coming to the wedding,” Stella said, “And his family has been disinvited. Stephen called them today to clear up any possible confusion.” She tittered nervously. “It was a wee bit tense, you could say.” She pointed to the seating chart. “Anyways, that means that we have three empty seats. One at the family table, and two at this small table here. I was wondering where you would like Mister Strike to sit.”  
“Corm? Oh, no, you don’t have to put him anywhere, he… I thought he was going back home tonight. Wasn’t he just here to drop Baby off?”  
“You didn’t know? No, he couldn’t get a train home until Monday. Besides, your family loves him. Stephen personally requested that he come.”  
“My lawyer doesn’t want people getting the wrong idea about us. I don’t think it would be a good idea.”  
“Alright then, I’ll put him at one of the round tables.”  
Robin was about to argue further, saying that he didn’t need to come to the wedding at all, but caught herself. The truth was that this wedding filled her with a deep stomach clenching dread, and if Cormoran was there… Well, maybe she might just get through it.

The rehearsal dinner was that night at Vennell’s Restaurant. Growing up, Vennell’s had always been too expensive for Robin’s family to go to any more than once a year, on New Year’s Eve. Robin used to wear her nicest clothes and pretend that she was a princess, refusing to answer to anything but “Your Royal Highness”. Tonight she wore the green dress and her moth necklace and knew that all of the compliments she received would be true.   
She was quiet throughout the meal, looking at the family and friends around her. There were twenty people in the room, all Stephen and Stella’s closest friends and immediate family. The food was as wonderful as it had always been, and as she ate Robin felt that she could almost see her childhood self sitting next to her. Little Robin in her nicest clothes, legs not quite reaching the floor, drinking tea with her pinky up. That little girl was so filled with confidence and joy. She was a princess, sparkling with attitude and courage. For the first time Robin understood why princesses were so often kept in towers. She wanted to keep that her childhood self locked away where it was safe. She wanted to post a dragon outside, who could keep out Garrett Chappell and Matthew and keep Little Robin protected forever.  
Robin was shaken from this reverie by a call for toasts. She and her brothers had prepared a joint toast for the wedding dinner itself, but for the rehearsal dinner the floor was opened for anybody to share whatever they wanted.   
Stella’s aunt stood up and said a few words about how much he liked Stephen. Linda got up and told them that communication and laughter was the key to happiness. Stella’s father cried and said that he was proud. Everybody raised glasses and dabbed at their eyes.  
Suddenly Robin stood up. All eyes turned to her, and she realized with a sinking feeling that she didn’t have the faintest idea what she was doing. She had planned to stay silent throughout the evening. Now, however, the room was silent and expectant, so Robin cleared her throat.  
“Hi, I’m Robin,” Robin said, “I’m Stephen’s little sister.” She shifted from leg to leg. “As some of you know… Who am I kidding, it’s all over the knews, all of you know that I have every reason to be disillusioned about love,” Robin said. There was an uncomfortable titter throughout the audience. She saw her parents exchange worried glances. Martin took out his phone and hit record, grinning, expecting some sort of blackmail gold. Robin smiled at him beneficently.   
“I spend most of my work exposing infidelity. My own marriage has failed so spectacularly it’s being broadcast on the five o-clock news,” she said, “So I look around at the world, and my life, and the future, and I’m just scared. It’s just scary. It’s chaotic, and disjointed, and I feel like I’ve been torn to pieces.”  
She sighed.   
“But then there’s that one person in your life, where you look at their face and suddenly it feels like everything… just slides back into place.   
“I used to think that love meant safety. Love was something easy, a shelter from the storm, somebody who would protect you from all of the hard times. It was a white picket fence and a casserole in the oven. And that’s not wrong. The person you love should keep you safe. They should keep you safe enough for you to take risks.”   
She searched for words. She was trying to capture something that was too large for her own limited vocabulary.   
“Does that make sense?” she asked. “The person you love doesn’t keep you inside, away from danger. They don’t fight the dragons while you stay in the tower. No, you step out into the storm, hand in hand, and you’re not scared, because they’re there. Love isn’t just the white picket fence and the casserole, it’s when you’re living in a cardboard box under the overpass, and you look at them, and you know that you’re home.  
“I look at Stephen and Stella, and I see hard times. I see money problems and health issues, and a lot of dreams that aren’t going to come true.” Robin could see silent tears running down Stella’s face, and she felt her own voice start to crack and bend as emotion overtook her. “You’re going to be scared. It’s inevitable. But I also see that you’re going to wake up next to each other every morning, and you’re going to eat breakfast, and you’re going to open the front door, and you’re going to go out and face the monsters, together, hand-in-hand.”   
Robin had gained momentum, then realized that she had no idea how to finish. She put her hand to her mouth.  
“And that’s, well,” She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “That’s all I have to say.” She raised her glass. “To monster fighting.”  
“To monster fighting,” the room repeated, and lifted their glasses.


	47. Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it came to my attention yesterday that it's actually STEPHEN who's getting married, not Jonathan. HA! Oops. I lost my copies of the books while moving, so I'm doing this all from memory and wikipedia. So I changed it, in case you get confused. The real Jonathan, baby Jonathan, who's not getting married, might pop up somewhere, I'm not sure.  
> I've been working on this chapter for quite a while, it's one of my favorites, although/because it's cheesy. Seriously, cheesiness makes everything better. Macaroni, crackers, wine, all better with cheese. Even cake, you have cheesecake.

 

Along with his mandated therapy, Cormoran had attended an optional class on PTSD after the explosion took his leg. In it, a researcher had presented a study on nightmares and Post Traumatic Stress, and the importance of lucid dreaming. He told the audience that if you were in the middle of a terrible nightmare, reliving the feelings of powerlessness and terror, and you realized that you were dreaming, you could change the plot of the dream and change the feelings of powerlessness and terror. You could address the feelings and they would no longer have a hold on you.

Cormoran tried this for a while. He read articles on lucid dreaming, and learned how to recognize the difference between dreams and reality. He kept a journal, and kept track of the differences between being asleep and awake. He tested himself, putting a finger to his palm or paying attention to faces, to see if he was awake or dreaming. After a lot of practice, he was always able to recognize a dream for what it was: just a figment of his imagination. Unfortunately, that was as far as he ever got. He could tell himself “This is a dream, I’m dreaming,” but he was still powerless to stop anything that happened. He would scream “ _ I’m dreaming! I’m dreaming! _ ” at the top of his voice, but he still watched as the truck exploded, still felt the pain shooting through him, still heard the sounds of his fellow soldiers accusing him for being alive.

Tonight, as Matthew pushed him from the roof of the office building, he repeated, “ _ This is all a dream, this is all a dream, it’s not real, _ ” but he still fell, gaining speed until the lights of the office windows turned into a golden blur. “ _ None of this is real _ ,” as he hit the ground. “ _ I’m in my bed, nothing can hurt me.”  _ But he  _ was  _ hurting, pain shattering through him.  _ “None of this is real _ ,” as he turned over and saw Charlotte beside him, her body broken, her skull crushed, and then it wasn’t Charlotte but Robin, and Robin was dead, and Cormoran was screaming screaming screaming…

And then he was awake, lying in Martin Ellacott’s bedroom. Martin had snuck off to a bridesmaid’s hotel room, leaving Cormoran with the room to himself. He looked at the clock, which blinked 3:00. He had drifted off around 1:45, making this the longest sleep he’d had in days. 

He knew that trying to sleep more was pointless, so he sat up and turned on the light by his bed. He figured he might as well get some work done, and started researching his client’s long-lost stepsister. 

The step-sister, Dolly, had gone into the system at sixteen after her father broke her arm. Cormoran looked up her father. In and out of prison for various acts of violence, mostly domestic abuse, before moving to the United States. He knew that victims of abuse often returned to their abusers, and it was possible that Dolly had left the country with him. He scanned at the man’s scanty social media presence for any sign of a woman fitting Dolly’s description, but the man was fairly private and there were no photos of anybody but himself. 

Cormoran was considering his next move when he received a ping on his phone. Frowning, he opened it. It was from Martin Ellacott. There was no text, just a link to a youtube video, labelled “Rob’s Rehearsal Dinner Speech”. Curious, Cormoran plugged in his headphones and pressed play.

 “ _ I spend most of my work exposing infidelity. My own marriage has failed so spectacularly it’s being broadcast on the five o-clock news...” _

Cormoran watched the entire video, then hit replay and watched it again. He was about to watch it a third time, when he heard a light tap at the door.

“Yes?” he grunted.

The door opened and Robin slipped in. She was in her flannel shark pajamas and her face was free of makeup.

“Doctor Chan wouldn’t like you down here,” Cormoran said, shutting his computer and putting it away. Robin sat on the edge of his bed.

“Everybody is asleep. I was careful.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Figured might as well be productive, so I came downstairs to get some work done. The wifi is better down here.”

“So did you get some work done?”

“I’ve been watching videos of baby skunks for the past hour.”

Cormoran laughed.

“I can’t sleep either,” he said.

“What baby animals did you end up watching?”

“None, actually. I ended up watching your rehearsal dinner speech.”

Robin’s jaw dropped.

“No,” she said.

“It was beautiful,” Cormoran said, “I watched it twice.”

“I can barely even remember what I said. I’m so tired, everything is a blur.”

“I know how you feel. I can’t remember the last time I got a full eight hours. Or even a full two hours.”

“Nightmares?” Robin asked.

“Yes.”

Robin stared at him with deep haunted eyes.

“Corm?”

“Yeah?”

“I haven’t slept in so long.”

“I know. Me neither.”

“Corm?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m so tired.”

“I know. Me too.”

“I’m just so tired.” She was crying again now, it seemed lately like she never stopped, fat hot tears running down her cheeks, and Cormoran didn’t care how small the bed was, or what the rules said, or what it would look like, he pulled her into him and held her close, his hands around her waist and in her hair.

She clung to him like he was a life-buoy out at sea, her fingers digging into his skin, her tears dripping onto his sweater. She felt him shaking and realized that he was crying too. She ran her hand along his unshaved face, warm and rough and real, and buried her nose into his collar bone.

Fifteen minutes later they were asleep.

 

Robin woke up at six AM with her nose in Cormoran’s neck and her leg wrapped around his waist. He was dreaming, murmuring under his breath. His hand gently clenched and unclenched on her thigh.

She knew that it was wrong. She should not be sharing a bed with Cormoran Strike. It was so wrong. But it was warm and comfortable, and she burrowed herself deeper into his arms. She smiled and sighed happily. It was so wrong. But she would deal with it later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in a bit of a dilemma, as I want them to get together BUT I want to get Cormoran out of his wheelchair first, cause I already have the scene written, and lemme tell you it is beautiful. Unfortunately it will probably take him about three months to get back on his feet (or foot). So in a few chapters I might do a major time jump just to keep things moving. Any thoughts on that? I know those can be a little annoying, especially because it would pass over a ton of stuff. But even I'm getting frustrated with all this tension, and I know how it ends.


	48. The Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this one fast, with little editing, but hopefully it works well.

 

“Jesus fuck.”

Robin woke up to see Cormoran hurriedly trying to untangle himself from her.

“Ah, fuck, what did we do,” he said.

“What time is it?”

“Nine thirty.”

Robin bolted up in bed.

“Shit,” she said. Her pajama top had ridden up to her stomach and she hurried to tug it back down. “Are there people outside?” she whispered. They both listened, and sure enough the sounds of people eating breakfast could be heard right outside their door.

“What are they going to think?” Robin said, “If people think that we’re… together...” She turned red. “We’ll lose the whole case.”

“Not before your parents kill me,” Cormoran said.

“What are we going to do?”

He looked around the room. “You could climb out the window.”

“Then what, knock on the front door in my pajamas?"

“I’ll distract them, and you’ll run out.”

“How do you plan on distracting them?” she asked.

Cormoran thought about this.

“That’s a good point, I have no idea.”

They both sat on the bed, thinking.

The window suddenly opened with a grating crunch, making them both jump. The curtains parted and Martin crawled in, landing nimbly on the desk. Robin, thinking fast, dropped to the floor and rolled under the bed.

“Good morning, Cormoran,” Martin said, “I hope you had a good night’s sleep.” He shut the window behind him. “Get out from under the bed, Rob, that’s where I keep my dirty magazines.”

“Who reads dirty magazines anymore,” Robin said, her voice muffled, “Don’t you have the internet for that?”

“I like to support struggling businesses, Robin,” Martin said, “Do you ever think about that? No, you only think about yourself.”

Robin crawled out from under the bed, dishevelled and seething.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” she said, “I couldn’t sleep last night, that’s all. Cormoran and I are coworkers, nothing more.”

“It’s none of my business what you are,” Martin said.

“Damn right it’s not. And if you tell anybody that I was in here, I will never speak to you again, you hear me?” she said, “I wouldn’t be able to, anyways, because I will be in prison, falsely accused of attempted murder.”

Martin held up his hands.

“Who said anything about telling? I’m no snitch.”

Robin raised an eyebrow.

“Alright, so sometimes I’m a snitch,” Martin said, “But not this time. So here’s what we’re going to do. We’re all going to walk out together and pretend like Robin came downstairs to wake us both up. People will just assume they were looking the other direction when she walked down the stairway. Nobody but you two knows that I wasn’t here last night, and nobody will think that you were getting nasty with me in the room.”

“We weren’t-” Cormoran said

“I know, but I wish you were, you’d be a great couple. Why do you think I sent you that message last night?”

Robin looked from one man to the other, confused, but neither of them said a word.

  


 

 

The wedding ceremony was to be held at a little stone chapel about a mile away from her uncle’s farm.

Robin felt a heavy knot of anxiety clench around her chest as she waited in the narthex. This was it. She was going to be walking down that aisle and watched with prying, judgemental eyes. She would stand in front of the chapel full of people who pitied her, who were angry at her, who were desperate to know what really happened on the top of the office building.

“None of them are going to be looking at you,” Jonathan said.

Robin turned to Jonathan, who would be walking down the aisle with her.

“What?” she asked.

“They’re not here to judge you, or get the inside scoop. They’re here for Stephen and Stella. Nobody else.”

Robin smiled.

“Am I that transparent?” she asked.

“Just to your brother.”

Robin looked at him. After her wedding she had gone off to New York and Jonathan had gone back to University. Though they texted often, they had barely spoken in months. He had always been a chubby kid, but while at school his baby fat had turned into muscle. Robin felt as if he had gone into a time machine and aged three years in three months. She was grateful that he was still shorter than her, at least.

“I’ve been so self-absorbed this week, I haven’t spoken to you at all,” she said, “Jesus, how have you been?”

“You’ve had a lot on your mind,” he said, “I’ve been okay. I like my classes, but it’s difficult making friends. Growing up in a place as small as this you don’t really have to _make_ friends, you just _have_ them. University is completely different. You have to really put in an effort.”

Robin was about to answer when the music started and the flower girl and ring bearer stepped out into the aisle. Jonathan offered Robin his arm.

“You ready for this, Rob?”

She took a deep breath.

“Born ready, John-boy.”

  
  


“...If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal,” the pastor read.

Robin looked out at the crowd. Jonathan had been right. Nobody was looking at her. Nobody was judging her. They were all looking at Stephen and Stella, supporting them, loving them, believing that they could succeed against all odds. Linda was beaming, holding Michael's hand. Michael was crying quietly, mopping at his eyes with his pocket square.

“Love is patient, love is kind...”

Aunts, uncles, cousins, childhood friends, all there because they believed that love was real and strong, and could last. Her eyes fell on Cormoran at the back of the chapel. He was the only one in the audience not looking at Stephen and Stella. He was staring right at her. Their eyes met. She felt heat begin in her stomach and travel outwards like a wave until she was as red as a stoplight and her toes were curling in her shoes.

“Love never fails.”


	49. Dancing Alone

“I have an idea for a drinking game,” Jonathan said as they headed to the reception, “Every time anybody asks you where Matthew is, we have to take a drink.”

“Please. Everybody knows where he is,” Robin said, “But I’ll play along. Every time somebody says that they saw me on the news, we take a drink.”

“Every time somebody asks what really happened in a hushed voice, finish your drink.”

“Every time I answer honestly and they get uncomfortable, finish your drink.”

“Drink when they ask if you’re seeing anybody new yet.”

“Drink when they ask if you have a girlfriend yet. Because why should this be all about me.”

Jonathan laughed.

“You’re right,” he said, “It’s helpful to have you here. Nobody cares about my sexuality when you’ve just bludgeoned your husband.”

They ate dinner in the old barn where Robin used to play as a child. It was decorated with candles and sunflowers on every table, and strings of lights criss-crossing across the ceiling like stars. Robin caught up with Jonathan over dinner, asking about his favorite class (physiology) and his terrible roommate (who still used “gay” as an insult and left pubic hair on the soap). Making a game out of the tense topics took the sharp edges off the pain, and they laughed the entire way through dinner. Toasts were shared, and Robin found herself getting a bit giggly and light-headed. The cake was cut, a glorious triple chocolate creation that was as much a sculpture as it was a cake. Stella smashed a slice into Stephen’s face, and he kissed her until they were both covered in frosting and everybody cheered. 

Then the DJ called for everybody to gather around, for the bride and groom to share a very special dance.

_ “At last… My love has come along...” _

Robin felt the blood drain from her face. She hadn’t heard that song since she and Matthew had broken up, and here it was. Their song. 

She felt as though she could practically reach out and touch him, feel his arms around her. They had danced together so often she knew what steps he would take like they were her own, she knew how they moved together, unthinking, robotic. The barn was suddenly very warm and stuffy. She felt the salmon and chocolate cake and three glasses of champagne swirling around in her stomach and for an awful moment she thought for sure she was going to be sick.

“You want to give me the tour?” Cormoran asked, wheeling up to her elbow.

“Yes,” she said, relieved, “Let’s get out of here.”

She pushed his wheelchair out of the barn and into the cool crisp air. It had been a dry autumn so far, so the ground wasn’t muddy yet, but the air smelled like the first thunderstorm and Robin knew it was only a matter of time. They strolled around the farm. Robin showed him where there used to be goats, and a pig named Marlene who had once knocked Robin into a mud hole. She took him to the old pasture where Angus had lived. 

“I loved that horse,” she said, “He was a cantankerous old beast, but I loved him. He didn’t like anybody but me. That made me feel special.”

“You have a way with cantankerous old beasts,” Cormoran said.  Robin laughed.

“You feeling any better now?” he asked.

“A bit. I don’t know.” She looked up at the sky and sighed. “This was the one place with no reminders of Matthew,” she said, “It was the one place he never came. And yet somehow he barged in anyways." She leaned on the fence to the abandoned pasture. "I miss dancing,” she said, “Matthew was an evil, abusive killer, but he sure knew how to dance.” She sighed again. “That fucking song. Why did Stephen have to play Matthew’s fucking song.”

“You once told me that you loved that song since you were a child,” Cormoran said.

“Yes.”

“So it predates Matthew. This wasn’t Matthew’s song. This was your song, long before he even came along.”

Robin smiled.

“I guess you’re right,” she said, “It’s mine. Just mine.”

“You don’t need him to dance and have fun. Besides, you dance without a partner all the time, in Coco’s class.”

This time Robin laughed.

“Can you imagine me getting out onto the dance floor and doing my burlesque routine?”

Suddenly and without warning, she dropped to the ground and put her legs in the air in a seductive pose.

“Hello, Great Aunt Edith,” she said in a low, sultry voice. She ran her hands slowly up one calf. “How do you like my moves?”

Cormoran didn’t quite know what to do with his eyes. He didn’t know what to say. He knew that she was quite tipsy and letting her continue would probably end in embarrassment for both of them, but he certainly didn't want her to stop.

To his relief the sky took that moment to finally give in to the storm, and fat heavy drops started to fall. Robin threw her head back and whooped.

By the time they finally got back to the barn that night they were both soaked through and shivering.


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one today, sorry. I decided to take a plot twist, just to keep things interesting. I surprised even myself with this one, so I'm really just throwing stuff around and hoping something comes of it. I like Charlotte, though, she's fun to write, so we'll see. I'm still planning on a bit of a time jump cause I want Robin and Cormoran to do it already, but I think I can do that and also cover the trial pretty well.

They ate a final goodbye breakfast early the next morning before catching the 8:30 train. The storm was continuing with full force, so Linda turned the TV on in the hopes to hear the weather.

“I drove Stephen and Stella off to the airport this morning,” Michael said.

“Were they tired from a night of exertion?” Martin said with a loaded wink.

“Martin, that’s disgusting, he’s our brother,” Jonathan said, “I don’t even want to think about that.”

They were interrupted by the news anchor on the television. 

“There's been a new development in the case of Charlotte Ross and Cormoran Strike,” the anchor said. Everyone turned to stare at the screen. 

“I'll turn that off,” Linda said, standing. 

“No, leave it on,” Robin said, “I want to hear. Maybe the DNA results came in.”

“Cormoran Strike, the successful private investigator and son of musician Johnny Rokeby, was spotted on a date with his business partner Missus Robin Cunliffe,” he said.

Robin felt the floor drop several inches. 

“But we never…” she said.

“Strike was Robin Cunliffe’s date at the wedding of Missus Cunliffe’s brother, as you can see in this video here,” the anchor went on. Behind him was a video shot on a shaky phone camera. It had clearly been taken by one of the wedding guests, and showed Cormoran and Robin in the barn. In the video Cormoran put his hand on Robin’s shoulder and she bent down, her ear an inch from his mouth, and he whispered something in her ear. Video Robin smiled and wheeled him outside. 

“Looks very chummy, doesn’t it,” the anchor said.

“It wasn’t… We weren’t…” Robin murmured, “We just wanted to go for a walk.”

“Charlotte’s father is a broadcaster,” Cormoran said, “Of course they’re going to spin it.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Of fucking course.”

Robin pressed her hands to her cheeks.

“Why didn’t we listen to Doctor Chan?” she asked, “Why were we so stupid?”

“Charlotte would have come up with something anyways,” Cormoran said, “She’s always one step ahead of us.”

“Return later this afternoon for an exclusive interview with Mrs. Ross,” the news anchor said, “And now the weather.” The forcast popped up on the screen, but nobody cared about the storm anymore.

“What are you going to do now?” Linda asked. 

Nobody knew how to answer. Finally Robin spoke, with flat eyes and a bitter edge in her voice.

“We’re going to avoid the office,” she said, “We’re going to do everything Doctor Chan tells us to do. We’re not going to see each other in person. We can discuss cases on the phone, but otherwise we’re not going to be seen together.“

"How are we going to get by on that?" Cormoran asked, "The business will fail."

“But it won’t last long,” Linda said, “The DNA will be back in a week, then Charlotte will be arrested.” Linda grabbed Robin’s hand. “We’re going to get through this, Robin.”

Robin thought back to the photo Charlotte sent Cormoran on her wedding day. Those deeply haunted eyes, lost and accusing. The girl in that photograph wouldn’t stop with DNA evidence. She wouldn’t stop ever.

 

Robin and Cormoran rode home in separate train cars, and took separate cabs from the station. They didn’t look at each other. They didn’t say goodbye. 

Robin didn’t go back to her flat, where the presence of Matthew was still stifling. Instead she went straight to Coco’s place, wheeling her suitcase behind her. Coco let her in without questions.

“I saw it on the news this morning,” Coco said, “You don’t have to say anything. Sit on the sofa, I’ll make us both an Irish hot chocolate and some chips.”

Normally Robin reserved her alcohol consumption to a glass of wine on holidays. Now she was drinking whiskey at two in the afternoon. She wondered briefly how many people Charlotte Ross had driven to alcoholism.

“Did you watch the interview?” she asked Coco.

“Not yet, but I recorded it. Did you?”

“No. I’d like to hear what she says, but I’m too scared to watch it on my own.”

Coco handed Robin the hot chocolate and grabbed the remote off the coffee table.

“Well then, let’s dive in together, shall we?”


	51. Chapter 51

 

Charlotte perched on the edge of the chair like a bird with its wings clipped. Robin noted with a certain savage satisfaction that her face was still heavily scarred from where Baby had bitten her, with heavy black stitching around glistening red wounds. The interviewer was a broad-shouldered man with a spray-tan that gave him the appearance of a brick of cheddar cheese. He gave a brief introduction, explained what was known so far of the case and thanked Charlotte for appearing. He asked several introductory questions, which she answered with a simper. Then he asked about her healing process.

“I’m healing alright,” she said, “I’m still in a lot of pain, but no infection has set in, which I hear is very lucky in the event of dog bites.”

(Robin glowered at the television from her place on the couch. “I had Baby’s teeth cleaned the day before,” she muttered, “I wish I hadn’t.”)

“So Charlotte,” the interviewer asked, “Tell me about your relationship with Cormoran Strike.”

“Cormoran and I met when we were nineteen, and it was love at first sight,” Charlotte said, “We’ve been together ever since.”

“Ever since," the interviewer asked in surprise, "How does that work with your marriage to Jago Ross?” he asked.

“My parents wanted me to marry Jago, and I agreed," Charlotte said, "Jago and I both knew going in that our marriage was more of an old-fashioned alliance and partnership than anything else. It works for us, and we are good friends. What I felt for Cormoran, well. That was something else entirely. There’s still a part of me that loves him very much, and I think I always will.”

(Coco made fake vomiting noises.  “Can I throw my chips at the screen?” she asked. )

“So what went wrong?” the interviewer asked.

“Cormoran fell for his  _ secretary _ ,” Charlotte said. The title dripped from her mouth like a dirty word. “He wanted to leave me for her. I guess I just kind of... lost it.”

(“That’s one word for it,” Robin said.)

“I’m not proud,” Charlotte went on, “I was petty and vindictive. But at the time I thought that he was the only person I had in the world. I thought he was the only person who would ever love me. That’s how abusive relationships work. They make you feel like there is nobody else, no other option. So I told him that if he left me I would tell everybody how, last year, he…” Fat glistening tears welled up in her eyes. “How he beat me until I miscarried… I miscarried our child…”

The interviewer handed Charlotte a box of tissues and waited for her to calm down. Somehow tears only enhanced her beauty. They made her look like something fragile and precious, something you wanted to protect. Even Robin felt a primal pull to comfort her. 

Once Charlotte had calmed herself enough to continue, the interviewer asked,

“Why don’t you tell us about what happened on October seventh?”

“I was supposed to meet Cormoran at his flat,” she said, sniffling, “But before I went up I saw Robin Cunliffe and her dog coming out of a cafe. Robin didn’t seem well at all. She was staggering, and looked very ill, so I went over to help her. That’s how I was raised, to help people, no matter what.” 

Robin could practically feel Cormoran’s eye roll from where she sat. 

“I helped Robin over to my car, where she could have a seat and maybe have some water. Before we got there, though, her dog attacked me. You can see it left a mark.” Charlotte gestured to her face. “She threw me into my car and tied my hands with zip-ties. She then took my keys and drove me to her husband’s abandoned office building, where she dumped me in the basement.”

The interviewer but on a deeply concerned expression, but was barely able to contain his elation at having landed the biggest story of the year. 

“How on earth did you escape?” he asked.

“Well before she tied me up I clenched my fists and crossed them in front of each other, like so-” She demonstrated. “That way they would seem larger. After she took me inside I unclenched and uncrossed them, so that my wrists were thin again, and I was able to slide out of the zip-tie. Once I was freed I jumped at her and managed to punch her and knock her out. I tied her up with her own zip-ties before fainting from blood loss.” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “I just- I just wish I’d been able to stop her from hurting her husband.”

“Did you know Mister Cunliffe before this ordeal?” the host asked.

“We ran in similar circles. I’d seen him around, but we’d never actually spoken. I don’t know him well, but my deepest sympathies go out to his family.”

Robin’s phone rang. It was Doctor Chan. She picked up on the first ring.

“Doctor Chan,” Robin cried, “What are we going to do?”

“Well Miss Ellacott, the first thing we are going to do is we are not going to panic,” Doctor Chan said, “I know it's hard to believe right now, but this is the best thing Ms. Ross could have done.”

Robin was baffled.

“How?”

“She showed us her whole hand. We know exactly what she’s going to say and do, and we know exactly what to look for.”

“It sounds like she’s covered all her bases. You and I both know she wouldn’t mention zip-ties without first planting some of her own.”

“She also said that she and Matthew never had any contact. We just need to find proof that they did.”

“How are we going to do that?”

“With a very fine toothed comb, Miss Ellacott. Now I called you today to give you some very specific advice.”

“To stay away from Cormoran?”

“Well, yes, that still stands. He should not have come to your wedding. But the most important piece advice I have for you is to not worry. We are going to win this.”

Robin took a long sip of her chocolate and thought about this.

“I’ll certainly try,” she said.

“Good. Trust me on this one.”

“Doctor Chan?” she asked, “One more question.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll stay away from Cormoran. But can I… Can I talk to him on the phone?”

Doctor Chan considered, then said,

“Yes, I think that should be alright. I’d prefer you used other people’s phones, but I doubt it will ever come to that.”

“Thank you. I’ll borrow one.”

“We’ll meet later this week,” Chan said.

Robin hung up and stuffed several chips in her mouth.

“Thank you so much for everything,” she told Coco, “I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I can.”

“Any time. You’re a pleasure to be with. Do you need to use my phone to call Cormoran?”

“I will later, thanks.” Robin’s eyes widened. “...Borrow a phone…” she murmured. Coco cocked her head, confused.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Jesus, I’ve fucking got it!” Robin said.

“You’ve got… a phone?”

“I have to talk to Colleen,” Robin said, “Colleen Devoir.”


	52. Colleen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two phone calls. One to Cormoran, one to Colleen.

  
  
  


“Hello Cormoran.”

She couldn’t say his name without smiling. Jesus, there was nothing to smile about, not one thing, but somehow the sound of his name made her mouth happy and she couldn’t help herself.

“Hello Robin.”

“I had an idea.”

“You always do,” he said. She could feel his smile through the line.

“So you know how they’ve been unable to find any evidence of collusion between Matthew and Charlotte?” she asked.

“Hard for me not to.”

“Do you remember I told you about Matthew’s friend Darrin, who was creepy as hell and who I couldn’t stand?”

“He was on your suspect list, yes.”

“I think Matthew used him to communicate with Charlotte. Maybe his computer or his phone.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because I know Matthew. And I know Darrin.”

“That’s slim,” Cormoran said, “but I trust your hunches.” 

Robin beamed with pride. 

“So what are we going to do about it?” he asked.

“I’m going to tell Chan,” Robin said, “Then I’m going to go after it myself.”

“Robin…”

“Not like that. Look, they can interrogate Darrin all they want, but he’s not going to give in. He and Matthew are like brothers, or closer. They would never betray each other, not for anything.”

“But?”

“But Darrin has a wife, Colleen, who he ignores and underestimates. I would bet a kidney that she knows more than he thinks she does. If I can crack her I think we can get it.”

“You think you can? Abused women can be very loyal to their husbands.”

“She’s not abused, just neglected. She’ll be feeling that especially now that she has a new baby.”

“Alright. Give it a go.” He paused. “And Robin?”

“Yes?”

“Good thinking.”

  
  


 

“Devoir residence, Colleen speaking.” Colleen sounded absolutely exhausted.

“Colleen? It’s Robin.”

She heard a short gasp on the other end of the line.

“Don’t hang up,” she said, “Please, Colleen, don’t hang up.”

“I shouldn’t talk to you.”

“I know, but the truth is that I’m… I’m lonely and I need a friend.” 

Colleen didn’t answer. 

“The issue is between me and Matthew,” Robin said, “it doesn’t have anything to do with you and me. We can still be friends, can’t we?”

Robin could hear the baby vocalizing in the background. 

“George must be getting big now,” she said, grasping at straws. 

It worked.

“He’s three months now,” Colleen said, “He’s starting teething.”

“That must be difficult.”

“It’s alright, really. I got these teethers that you can put in the freezer so that it’s nice and cold on his gums.”

Suddenly the door was open, and Colleen was ready to talk. Robin suspected that she hadn’t been getting out much with a new baby and, used to the constant social interaction of teaching, was desperate for any conversation. They chatted for a while about sleep schedules and breast pumps and vaccinations. To her surprise she found herself laughing along to horror stories about diaper changes and clogged milk glands. Colleen was quite funny in her own quiet, self-deprecating way.

“Listen, Colleen,” Robin said, “I want to thank you for talking to me. I know that things are weird right now, but I really needed this.”

“I know,” Colleen said, “It must be very difficult for you, being without Matthew. I don’t know what I’d do without Darrin.”

“Yes, well, I didn’t know how I was going to manage at first,” Robin said, “But I’m a strong, resilient women. And so are you.”

Colleen giggled nervously. 

“I’m serious,” Robin went on, “I married Matthew because I loved him, not because I _ needed _ him. I don’t need a man. And I certainly don’t need a man who tried to kill my boss.”

Colleen gave a surprised little squeak.

“But the girl on the television said…”

“Oh, yes, of course, you heard Charlotte Ross,” Robin said, “I’m sure you knew girls like Charlotte in school. You know the type, the beautiful broken girl who can get anybody to believe anything. She’ll ruin your relationship just because she can. She can’t stand the thought of a man not being wrapped around her pinky finger. There’s nothing she likes more than bringing another woman low.”

“I did know girls like that in school,” Colleen said, “I know women like that now. There’s a woman in my new mum’s club who will make such back-handed little comments about our figures and such, and how she manages all the cooking and cleaning and how her perfect wee prince of a baby is already sleeping in his own room.”

“She sounds awful,” Robin said.

“Oh yes, she is.”

“Women are always underestimated. People underestimate how powerful we can be. Charlotte recognizes her power and she uses it to lie and manipulate people.”

“Us girls can be very petty and vindictive,” Colleen said.

This was clearly something that Colleen had heard Darrin say quite often, and Robin found herself having to backpedal quickly.

“Well I think people in general are petty and vindictive,” she said, “All people, regardless of gender. Men and women can both be cruel, and mean, and bullies. I was a psychology major in University, you know, and I learned that people lash out when they feel powerless and weak.”

“You were a psychology major?” Colleen said, “I majored in childhood development!”

“You’re kidding,” Robin said, surprised, “I had no idea. So you understand these things.”

“Absolutely.”

“You and I have a lot in common. I bet you would make an excellent investigator.”

Colleen made a noncommittal and confused noise in the back of her throat. 

“Seriously,” Robin said, “You’re very observant. I can tell.”

“I do notice things,” Colleen said.

“Exactly. You’re very insightful, too. You just never let it show.”

“Well, I don’t like to barge in on things that aren’t any of my business.”

“We have power, Colleen. Charlotte uses her power for bad, using lies and manipulation, but we can fight back with truth.”

“You sound like Wonder Woman.”

“Yes I know, I sound very cheesy, don’t I. But it’s true. It’s what I try to do in my job as an investigator. I try to make the world a better place. And it’s what you did as a teacher.”

“I tried.”

“And you succeeded. You’re not a teacher anymore, but you can still do good in the world.” She took a deep breath and went for it. “Colleen, I know you know that Matthew is guilty. I know that you’ve seen things, overheard things. You have to help me. Please.”

Colleen was silent.

“You were able to make a difference in so many lives, and now you can make a difference in mine. Please, Colleen, do the right thing.”

The baby started crying in the background.

“I have to go,” Colleen said, her voice barely a whisper.

“Colleen, wait-”

The phone hung up.


	53. Halloween

The month inched on to halloween. Cormoran’s landlord finally fixed the lift after Ilsa threatened a lawsuit, so Cormoran was able to get in and out of his flat. He stayed in most of the time, only going out for physical therapy. Robin did most of the tailing, while he followed up with online investigations. His physical therapist was insistent that the only way he would get back on his prosthesis would be to lose weight. He saw this as a catch-22, as the only exercise he enjoyed involved at least one working leg. He compromised by taking it upon himself to learn cooking. To his surprise he found that he enjoyed it significantly. When a day would pass without accomplishing anything and futility descended in a cloud, when he felt useless and incapable, he could make a meal and see a clear, immediate result. The day could pass in pain and discouragement, but he could work hard on perfecting a roast and end up with something to show for it.

Their client list had dwindled to two. Cormoran was silently relieved when Ishtahar told him that she had found a second job working part-time at the hospital, because it meant that he wouldn’t be abandoning her in dire straights when they ran out of money. 

Robin attended her dance class on Thursdays and her Krav Maga class on Saturdays, and started seeing a therapist on Sunday afternoons. In between them she tailed their three remaining clients and tried to ignore the constant ache of disappointment in her chest. She was disappointed in herself. She was disappointed that she had been so thoroughly deceived by her husband, that she couldn’t find a new place to live, and that, in spite all of his abuse, she still missed curling up next to Matthew at night.  The rent was paid until the end of December, but after that she would no longer be able to afford to live in the flat she had shared with Matthew. She searched for another place to live, but nobody wanted a potential kidnapper living with them, so all applications ended without a call back. So she remained in the flat, haunted by the ghost of their relationship. She spent as little time there as was possible. When she wasn't working or attending classes she hung out with Coco or babysat Ishtahar's children. At night she slept on an air mattress in her own kitchen because she wasn’t ready to sleep in the bed they had shared. She could barely go into the bedroom at all, and kept all of her clothes and makeup in a heap on the dining room table so that she wouldn’t have to. 

She bought a cheap disposable phone and called Cormoran every night to compare notes on work. What with their short client list they would cover all work related subjects in five minutes, then talk for another half hour, covering everything from food to politics to their favorite novels, gripping their phones with white knuckles like it was the last call they would ever make. 

  
  


Robin spent halloween afternoon at the dentist, getting her temporary caps replaced with permanent false teeth. She was on her way out, completely numb, when her phone rang. It was Wardle. 

“Hello Wardle," she said, "What news?”

“I’m not supposed to be telling you any of this, so when your lawyer informs you, be sure to act surprised.”

Robin’s heart stopped.

“I’ll… I’ll certainly try.”

“Well, a young woman named Colleen Duvoir just came in with a very fussy baby and a very interesting story.”

Her heart started again, beating twice as fast as if it wanted to make up for lost time.

“Yes?”

“She also came in with a laptop and a cellphone, belonging to her husband, a man named Darrin Duvoir.”

Robin covered her mouth with her hand. She wasn't sure if she was going to faint or scream or punch the air.

“She didn’t.”

“Several of my colleagues are on their way to the hospital to arrest Matthew now.”

“No," she said, "That's... I don't believe it."

“Believe it.”

Robin clutched at her chest.

“And Charlotte?” she asked.

“She's already in custody.”

“I don’t believe it…” she murmured, “Colleen really came through.”

“You had better buy that woman a damn big gift basket,” Wardle said, “She just saved your ass.”

 


	54. Ossification

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting a little poetic here. We'll see.

 

About a month after a bone breaks, a callus made out of collagen forms around the fracture point. Collagen is soft and spongey and fills in the cleft between the two bone fragments, fusing them together until there is no division. 

 

“Hello Robin.”

“Hello Cormoran.”

They were both lying on their beds in their separate apartments, watching their separate televisions play the same muted game show.

“Happy one month into twenty-seven,” he said.

“Happy one month in a wheelchair.”

He responded with something between a groan and a growl. Robin laughed.

“I spoke to Ilsa and Doctor Chan today,” he said.

“I was planning on calling them after I spoke to you,” Robin said, “Today was the Plea and Trial Preparation Hearing, right? How did it go?”

“Charlotte and Matthew are both pleading innocent. The trial is going to start on December fifth.”

She took a deep shuddering sigh.

“December. Okay. One month.” She listened to his breathing on the other end and wondered if she could last a month without seeing him and stay sane. 

“I know,” Cormoran said, “It’s too long. Too long but too short.” He was surprised at his emotional openness. He found it easier to talk on the phone. He didn’t have to look people in the eye or sense discomfort. It was almost as if he wasn’t talking to another person at all.

“I talked to Colleen today,” Robin said.

“Oh yes? How is she?”

“Not good. Darrin kicked her out of the house. She’s staying at a hotel, but she doesn’t have much money and she doesn’t know how she’s going to work and take care of the baby at the same time.”

“Does she have any family nearby?”

“No, her parents both died when she was small. She doesn’t have many friends. I feel awful. I pressured her into this, and now she’s alone and broke. I just wish I could help her, but I'm nearly as bad off.”

“She made the decision on her own. You asked her, but she’s the one who chose to do the right thing. You didn’t coerce her.”

“I suppose.” She rubbed her face with her hand. “Distract me,” she said, “Tell me something.”

“Lucy came by the office today,” Cormoran said, “She brought a bunch of Christmas lights. She believes that Christmas cheer is will speed up my healing process.”

“It might.”

“It’s barely November. Just last week she was forcing me to hand out halloween candy to trick-or-treaters.”

“Did she and Greg wear couples’ costumes on Halloween?”

“Of fucking course they did. They were crayons.”

“Oh God. If you’re going to submit yourself to a couples’ costume at least make it either funny or sexy. Coco and Lance dressed as a witch and a black cat."

"Who was who?"

"Lance was the witch.”

“And you?” Cormoran asked, “Did you dress up?”

“I was a flapper. Very easy. What about you?”

“I don’t need a costume. I scare kids just fine without one.” 

Robin laughed.

“What did you cook tonight?” she asked. She knew about his exploration into cooking and was charmed by it.

“For dinner I had a coconut chickpea curry.”

“That sounds lovely.” 

“It was good. And for dessert I fried bananas.”

“How’d that go?”

“Poorly. I may have to throw away the pan.”

Robin grinned.

“When this is all over, you have to cook something for me,” she said.

“I will.”

“You promise?”

“Promise.

 

Slowly osteoblasts harden the soft callus into bone. This is similar to the ossification process that occurs in the bones and cartilage of young children. Unlike childhood ossification, which is a natural, smooth process, hard callus formation leads to a thick knobby lump of cartilage and bone, clumsy and massive. It takes years for the hard bony callus to smooth back down into the shape it was before, and even then it is never completely back to normal. The bone is more fragile than before, and prone to more fractures. It’s ugly and painful, and never completely the same. But it’s healed, woven together by thick strands of bone with no gap between the broken shards. And that makes all the difference.


	55. The Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's late, I fell asleep halfway through writing it.

 

When Robin was a child she would start marking down the days till Christmas right after Halloween. She would be off-the-walls in anticipation the entire month of December, and execute each necessary holiday tradition with careful planning. 

Now she was marking off days on the calendar again, but not out of excitement for Christmas. She counted off each day as one step closer to the first day of the trial, and, in January, eviction. All around her the world was preparing for Christmas with lights and trees and songs about salvation, but Robin felt anything but joy and cheer. The dread clouded her mind and distracted her during crucial times, making her lose her train of thought when talking, or space out when tailing a client. She began the slow process of packing up her things, sorting through what was hers and what was Matthew’s. The walls gradually became bare and white. 

On November 20th Robin stayed home with a light fever and severe congestion. She had been out tailing one of their last remaining clients the day before and had gotten caught in a heavy hailstorm. She stayed on the sofa and drank tea and watched bad television. She wished that Baby was there to keep her company. 

Her phone rang, a number she didn’t recognize, and she picked it up.

“Robin Ellacott speaking.”

“Don’t hang up.”

Matthew’s voice reverberated through her bones like an electric shock. She was disgusted by the longing that it evoked in her.

“Have you got your memory back then?” she asked. She didn’t bother to ask how he got her new number. He always got what he wanted, there was no need to ask how anymore.

“It’s still fuzzy in parts.”

“What do you want, Matthew?” she asked. 

“I want what I’ve always wanted,” he said, “I want things to go back to the way they were. I want it to be you and me, together, happy. The way it used to be.”

Robin didn’t answer.

“We had it good together,” Matthew said, “You can’t deny that.”

She thought about this. She had loved Matthew for so long it had blended into the background of her identity. Her love for him was as much a part of her as her own skin, and like her own skin she rarely thought about it. But it was true. She and Matthew had loved each other, truly, and they had been happy together for years. She knew things about Matthew that nobody else did. His hopes, his fears, his darkest secrets. Sometimes she thought that he could read her mind, he was so attuned to her expressions and body language. He used to make her laugh until she fell out of her chair. He was a master of impressions, and his impersonations of her brothers could make her giggle until she was sore.

“You’re right,” she admitted, “We were happy for a long time.”

“I miss it, Robsy.”

“Yes, I guess I miss it too.”

“I still love you. I never stopped. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. You’re everything to me. You’re my sun and stars.”

“I know.”

“I was trying to protect you, Robin. I know that you’re angry, but I was just trying to save your life.”

Robin picked out her words carefully, like she was dismantling a bomb.

“I don’t know how to explain…” she started, unsure of how to finish, “Just how  _ deeply _ fucked up that is.”

“Listen,” Matthew said, his voice becoming hard and serious, “Have you ever heard of a man named Robert Maison?”

“No.”

“Well you should have. He’s one of the best lawyers in London. He’s never lost a case in his twenty-five years of practice. Not one. He represents MPs and celebrities.”

“Good for him.”

“I hear you’re being represented by that Chinese guy who you had for the rape case.”

“Doctor Chan.”

“Yeah. Listen. I love you, Robin, so I’m giving you advanced warning. Robert Maison is representing Charlotte and I, and he’s going to wipe the floor with Doctor Chang.”

“Doctor Chan,” Robin corrected.

“How are you guys affording this, anyways? Both you and Strike are barely out of the poorhouse, and I know your parents have been struggling financially.”

“None of your business.” The truth was that lawyers were expensive, and even Chan’s modest rates were more than Robin could handle on her own. Her parents were talking about renting out Stephen’s old room as an Airbnb to make ends meet.

“I’m going to give you an out,” Matthew said, “An end to all of these problems.” He waited for Robin to respond, but she didn’t. “You come with me. We stay together, and testify against Charlotte. Charlotte goes in for what she did to Strike, and we’re free. We leave everything behind. Our jobs, our bills, society’s expectations. It’ll be just you and me again. It’ll be beautiful. The way things used to be.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then Maison will turn your case upside down and inside out. He shows no mercy, Robin. I’ve seen him work. You’ll be lucky if you and Strike don’t end up in jail by the end of it.”

“Corm and I are the prosecution.”

“Not with Maison, you’re not. With him everybody’s on the defense.”

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear,” Robin said, “I would rather be sent to prison and spend the rest of my life making toilet moonshine than spend one more day as your wife.”

She hung up the phone and looked around the room. Suddenly, to her deep surprise, she felt a bubble of hope.


	56. Gwendolyn Koots

 

Robin described the conversation with Matthew to her therapist that week. Her therapist was named Gwendolyn Koots, a firy old feminist who had been quite the radical in the 60s and 70s. 

“I still feel miles behind,” Robin said, “I look at Lance and Coco together and I just feel all twisted up inside. They don’t even have to be acting lovey-dovey, just seeing them together.”

Gwendolyn nodded.

“Let’s examine that,” she said, “What’s the feeling there?”

Robin thought about this. She ran down the list of emotions in her head and tried several on for size.

“It’s disgust, mostly,” she decided.

“What about Coco and Lance disgusts you?”

“I think it reminds me of how I happy I was, before Matthew hurt me. And that reminds me of how deeply I was hurt. I’m disgusted by how innocent I was. How much I bared myself to a violent abuser, and how much I put up with him. And how much I still miss him. How much I still love him.”

“Vulnerability is not something to be ashamed of. It’s taking advantage of vulnerability that’s shameful.” 

Robin looked sceptical. 

“Write that down,” Gwendolyn said, “Vulnerability is not something to be ashamed of. That’s important.” Gwendolyn often made Robin write down the most important lessons from any session. Robin kept them all in a little leather-bound book.

“Love is not a bad thing either, as long as it’s directed to the right person,” she continued, “If it’s directed at yourself, and somebody who loves you back, love is wonderful. Write that down too. Love is good.”

“What does love even mean, though?” Robin asked, “Matthew said that he loves me. And when I hear his voice it’s like ‘Oh yes, it’s the man I love’. In my body and my instincts and my brain stem, I think I’m still very much in love with him. But I don’t know what love even means anymore.”

“Alright, let’s talk about that. When I say the word love, what comes to your mind?”

“My dog.”

“Good, but let’s go deeper. How do you feel when you’re around her?”

Robin imagined Baby and felt a burst of sadness. She missed her terribly.

“She makes me feel like I’m special, because she’s always happy to see me,” Robin said, “She makes me feel safe. I can go places with her without being afraid, because I know that she’ll protect me. I’m excited to see her, and to do things with her. She makes me happy.”

“So when you love somebody, they keep you safe, they make you excited, they make you feel special, and they make you happy.”

“Yes, I suppose so. That pretty much sums it up.”

“There is nothing wrong with any of those things.”

“Matthew didn’t make me feel special, or safe. And he certainly didn’t make me happy. Not at the end.”

“So do you love him?”

“I guess not.” Robin chewed the end of her pencil thoughtfully. “I guess I haven’t loved him for some time.”

“Do you know what a phantom limb is?” Gwendolyn asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“Sometimes we feel things that no longer exist. Your love for Matthew no longer exists, but it’s been there for so long that you still feel the phantom sensation.”

Robin liked this analogy, and wrote it down. 

“I’d like to change the subject slightly,” Gwendolyn said, “When you look at Coco and Lance you feel a lot of intense emotions. How do you feel when you imagine getting out and dating again?” 

“I’m scared of letting strangers into my life.”

“Now what if they weren’t strangers?”

Realization hit and Robin blushed up to the roots of her hair.

“Cormoran?” she asked. As always, her mouth betrayed her, curling into a smile at the mention of his name.

“Do you have romantic feelings for your partner?” Gwendolyn asked.

“I don’t think…” Robin put her hand to her cheek. She felt like a teenager. “I don’t think I’m ready to answer that out loud.”

“You don’t have to answer it out loud. But in your heart? Is there an answer?”

Robin thought about Cormoran. She thought about the first time she ever met him, when he kept her from falling. She thought about him sitting in the busted car with her and laughing as the police arrested Liz Tassel. She thought about him kissing her hand. His arm around her shoulders after she broke up with Matthew. He crashed into her wedding like he crashed into her life, broken and messy and so beautiful. 

She was lost in thought, sitting with her knees up to her chin, smiling slightly to herself.

“I think I have an answer,” she said, “I think I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwendolyn Koots is based off of my own therapist when I was in high school, dealing with similar issues.


	57. Witness Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I have never been to a trial, either here or in the UK. Turns out there's quite a bit of information online for what to expect when you're a witness, so I got a bit of that, but there still might be some glaring errors.   
> Anyways. I'm attending a one-day intensive writing class tomorrow (it was my xmas gift) so I'm not sure if I'll get anything on this done, what with all the other writing I'm gonna be doing. I mean six hours is a lot of writing, even for me. But I'll try, and if I can't get a chapter done I'll try to do an extra long one the next night.  
> As always I adore you all and am so thankful for all feedback.

Robin took special care on her appearance the morning of the trial. She wore a white blouse and a soft grey suit, and pulled her hair back into a neat bun. Strong wind and rain was causing bad traffic across the city, so she left the Land Rover at the flat and took the bus to the courthouse. When she got outside the winds were so strong that her hair was blown into complete disarray and she arrived at the courthouse looking like she had just rolled out of bed. She went to the restroom and tried to make herself presentable. Her hands shook so bad she was unable to put her hair in a bun. She gripped the edge of the sink and took deep breaths. She was so preoccupied she didn’t hear the bathroom door open until her mother was right next to her.

“Ah, Wobba Bobba,” Linda said, putting her arms around her daughter, “You’re gonna be okay.” 

“Mum?” Robin said, shocked, “What- What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to support my daughter, what do you think,” Linda said, “We were going to surprise you, but then I saw you come in here, and thought I should say hello.”

“We? Who’s we?”

“All of us. Your dad and your brothers, Stella, Aunt Clara, Uncle Bill, Uncle Marty.”

“Uncle Marty? He never leaves the farm! Why are all these people here?”

“Yes, well, Doctor Chan said that it was good to have as many people supporting you as possible. The jury looks at that, you know. Here, let me do your hair. Bend down a bit, there’s a good girl.” Robin squatted slightly so that Linda could brush her hair back into a bun. She hadn’t let her mother do her hair since she was about ten years old. She closed her eyes and let the gentle tug of the brush and her mother’s hands lull her into the calm of childhood. 

“Your friend Coco brought all the ladies from your dance class,” Linda went on, “And quite a few of your clients. Of course this is a high profile case, everybody wants in. But there’s no denying that you are very loved, Robin, very loved indeed, by a great many people.”

Robin bit her lip to keep her chin from trembling.

“All done,” Linda said. “Now listen, this trial is going to be just like last time, where you won’t be in the same room with us. But you’ll be with your other witnesses, so you won’t be alone. Cormoran will be there, and Coco and her boyfriend, and several of Cormoran’s associates.”

“I won’t be with any of Matthew’s family, will I?”

“No. All of those witnesses are in a separate room. Everybody is separated, don’t worry.” 

Robin breathed a sigh of relief and hugged her mother.

“Thank you so much for coming, Mum,” she said, “I mean it, it means the world to me.”

“And you mean the world to me,” Linda said.

She and Robin went out to the main entrance, where Robin’s family was waiting. Everybody was there, and they all cheered and whistled when they saw her. Martin was holding a large sign that read “HAPPY TRIAL ROBIN” in large glittering letters.

“I got you balloons,” he said, “but they wouldn’t let me bring them inside.”

“You’d better not bring that into the courtroom,” Robin said.

“I won’t let him, don’t worry,” Linda assured her.

“She can take away the sign, but I have your name painted on my chest,” Martin stage-whispered, “As soon as they announce the verdict I’m going to whip my shirt over my head and run around like Fabrizio Ravinelli.”

“What if the verdict is bad?”

“Then I’m going to whip my shirt over my head to hide my tears. It works either way.”

Robin hadn’t thought it was possible for her to laugh that morning, but there she was, wiping her eyes, surrounded by her family and friends, giggling uncontrollably.

"When you get up on the stand, just look at us," Stella said, "Don't worry about anybody else, just look at us and know that we're here supporting you."

 

The Witness Care Officer led Robin to a waiting lounge off to the side of the courtroom. It could have been a hospital waiting room, with padded chairs and magazines, if it wasn’t for the guards standing at the door. The room was already full of witnesses when Robin arrived. Lance, Coco, Anstis, Al Rokeby, Graham Hardacre, and Nick all sat around, leafing through magazines and avoiding eye contact with each other. Robin recognized the paramedics from the night of the crime and she gave them a nod of thanks. There were several other witnesses that Robin didn’t recognize, but suspected that they were CSIs or police. She sat down next to Coco, who reached out and squeezed her hand.

“I saw your family out there,” Coco said.

“Yes. Was it you who invited the dance ladies?”

“It was. I hope that’s alright. Doctor Chan said that the more support the better, but…”

“It’s wonderful. I’m just surprised that they wanted to come.”

“We care about you, Robin.” She grinned. “Besides, this is the most exciting thing that’s happened to any of them in ages. They’re hoping to get caught on TV.”

“Where’s Cormoran?” Robin asked.

“Smoking, what else. He should be back any- oh, speak of the devil.”

Cormoran wheeled in the door.

Though they had been in almost constant communication, Robin hadn’t seen Cormoran in over two months. She looked him over. His leg was no longer in forced extension, and was now bent at the knee. The constant exertion of getting in and out of the wheelchair had tightened his arms and shoulders quite nicely, and Robin couldn’t help but notice how well he fit into his best suit. He looked up at her and their eyes met. Heat sprouted in Robin’s belly and blossomed through her veins until she could feel the blush in her face like a red alert strobe.

“Miss Ellacott,” Cormoran said, “It’s been a while.”

Robin looked down at her hands in her lap.

“It has indeed,” she murmured.

The air bristled with tension. Everybody watched Robin and Cormoran from the corners of their eyes.

The door swung open again, this time bringing Wardle holding a dozen cups of coffee.

“Fear not,” he announced, “I happen to know that the coffee here tastes like human excrement, so thankfully some of the wife’s friends pitched in to help us out. Fuel anybody?”


	58. Questioning Robin

 

Robin’s character witnesses were called out of the room first. There were two clients who were willing to speak on her behalf, both divorce lawyers who had hired her to look into cases of their own. Coco and Lance would also testify on her behalf, but because they had other testimonies to give they would be interviewed after her. 

Robin was glad that she hadn’t eaten any breakfast or she was sure she would be sick. She picked up a magazine and opened it, but couldn’t follow anything it said. Coco reached down and grabbed her hand, and Robin realized that she’d been picking at her nail polish without even realizing.

The Witness Care Officer opened the door.

“Robin Ellacott?” he announced. Robin felt her stomach spin. Coco squeezed her hand.

“Give’em hell,” she said.

Robin stood and followed the officer into the courtroom.

The courtroom was brightly lit and filled with people who shifted and whispered as she entered, like a flock of doves. She walked up to the podium with wobbling knees and clasped her hands tight in order to keep from picking at her nails again. The room smelled like wood polish and wet fabric. 

There were fifteen people in the jury box, mostly women. Robin looked at them for any sign of understanding or care, but all she received were looks of mild curiosity, like she was an exotic fish in an aquarium. 

Her eyes landed on Matthew. She hadn’t seen him since her birthday, and she felt it like a punch in the throat. Over the months he had shifted in her mind from her husband to a horrible monster, wild-eyed and frothing at the mouth as he wielded his sledgehammer. In the courtroom, however, he looked very small. His hair was two different lengths and he had dark circles around his eyes. Robin’s first instinct was to run to him and assure him that everything was going to be alright. She swallowed that down. 

Matthew's family was sitting in one corner, tight-lipped and formal, staring at her with undisguised loathing. This was almost a relief to Robin. His family had never liked her. They had always seen her as too country, and, after she was raped, too damaged. They had kept their disdain for her repressed when Matthew and Robin were together, greeting her with stiff smiles and formal conversation, but their pleasant exterior always strained at the seams, showing momentary glimpses of anger and disapproval beneath. Now that mask was gone, and Robin had to admit she preferred their open hatred to their poorly faked approval. It was refreshing to see the reality after years of bad acting, all the cards on the table, no more secret judgements whispered behind closed doors.

“When you’re ready, Miss Ellacott,” the judge said.

Robin looked down at the prompt card the Witness Care Officer had handed her.

“I…” Her voice came out as a small squeak. She cleared her throat. “I, Robin Venetia Ellacott, solemnly affirm that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

Doctor Chan stood and walked over to her.

“Hello Robin,” he said, “Let’s start at the beginning. Can you tell us when you first started suspecting that somebody intended you harm?”

“I received a text message,” she said, “with a photo of me on my wedding day and the words ‘ I will…’” She paused and instinctively looked at her parents. “‘I will fuck you the way he does, and then murder you in front of him. He will finally know how it feels to be me.’”

“The jury can see the print-out of this message as Exhibit A,” Doctor Chan said. He turned back to Robin. “What did you do when you received this message?”

Chan slowly guided Robin through the entire story, from the night she received the message, to the night with Lance in the hallway, to the night of her birthday. He extracted it from her gently, occasionally asking clarifying questions, and Robin felt like a very large splinter was being removed from under her skin. She kept her eyes on her family in the audience, occasionally sneaking glances to the jury to see how they responded. She didn’t know how much time passed. It felt like hours.

“No further questions,” Chan said, finally. Robin shut her eyes, breathing deeply.

“Counselor Maison, you may cross-examine the witness,” the judge said.

Robert Maison was a large man, with clear blue eyes and blond hair swept to one side. He walked with confidence that made everyone else seem to shrink.

“Miss Ellacott,” he said, “What is your relationship like with Mister Cormoran Strike?”

“He’s my business partner,” Robin said.

“Do you have romantic feelings for him?”

“Objection!” Chan said, “Immaterial.”

“I am merely trying to determine if there was reason for collusion between Miss Ellacott and Mister Strike,” Maison explained.

“Overruled,” the judge said.

“No,” Robin said, “I do not have romantic feelings for Cormoran Strike.” She looked at her hands, aware that she had just lied in court.

“What was your relationship like with your husband?” Maison asked.

“Could you be more specific?” Robin asked.

“Would you say that your marriage was happy?”

“We had some problems,” Robin admitted, “Matthew didn’t like me working as a private investigator. He thought it was dangerous. We argued about it often.”

“Did you consider leaving him?”

“No. Never. I believed that we could work it out with open and honest communication.”

Maison nodded with a bit of a sneer.

“Moving on,” he said, “You say that you were threatened by Mister Lance Wielder in the hallway to your office and fought back in self-defense.”

“Yes.”

“Why did you bring him into your office instead of calling the police immediately?”

“I wanted to make sure he was alright first.”

“You wanted to make sure that the man who threatened you was alright after you pushed him down the stairs in self defense?” 

Robin felt herself tensing before every question like it was a physical blow.

“Yes. I hit him instinctively, because I was afraid. But then I felt bad about hurting him.”

“So rather than taking him to the hospital, you locked him up in your office.”

“I took him in to my sofa to survey the damage.”

“And why didn’t you call the police afterwards?”

“I did. I contacted my friend detective Eric Wardle.”

“But not before you let Wielder go.”

“Yes. Wielder was a sex worker at the time. He didn’t want the police involved. I trusted that he was as much of a victim as me, used by Matthew and Charlotte to get a rise out of me.”

 

The questioning went on. Everything Robin used was pried open and poked about until Robin was unsure of what she was even saying anymore. Words sounded foreign in her mouth. She found herself sweating.

“You say that you knew how to get out of zip-ties.” Maison said, “Where did you learn that skill?”

“I looked it up online and then practiced several times.”

“Why did you feel the need to learn that?”

“I was attacked and raped eight years ago,” she said, “I have always tried to be vigilant about my own safety since then.”

Chan had woven the story together with truth and elegance, and Maison went at it with gardening sheers. 

“How did you know that Mister Cunliffe and Mister Strike would be on the top floor?”

“Charlotte told me that they were going to jump off the roof. It made sense that he would be there. I also knew that Cormoran had arrived but Charlotte made no move to go to him, so it would make sense that there would be another person involved.”

“Did you know that the other person involved was Matthew?”

“No.”

“How did your dog got into the building and find you?”

“I don’t know.”

 

On and on, tying Robin up into knots. Finally he said, “No further questions,” and sat. Tears of relief welled up in Robin’s eyes. She sniffed loudly and wondered if her legs would support her out of the room.

“You may go, Miss Ellacott,” the judge said, and it was all Robin could do not to run from the stand.


	59. Cormoran's Testimony

After Robin’s testimony the Judge sent everybody on a recess for lunch. Robin didn’t want to be with anybody. She didn’t want to look at anybody, she didn’t want to talk to anybody, she wanted everybody to fuck off and leave her alone. She left the courthouse and walked to Saint Paul’s Cathedral. 

She loved the dark smell of aged wood, and the way the soft light shone through the windows calmed her. The ceiling was crowded with saints and angels, all busy with great and wonderful things, things bigger and more important than her trial. This thought should have made her feel lonely and unimportant, but it didn’t. There were greater things than her. 

She hadn’t prayed in a long time. As a child she would talk to God often, rambling her thoughts off to Him like she would to anybody. After she was raped she pretty much gave up on relgion entirely. At Christmas and Easter, of course, she read off the prayers in the program like everybody else, but never with any intention behind it. Now, though, she closed her eyes and wished for something she couldn’t articulate in words. She wanted to win the trial, of course, but there was something deeper than that. There was a part of her soul that had lived in a constant state of deep and primal terror for many years. It shivered in her chest like a kicked dog, flinching back from every interaction, snapping at anything that came close. And she was tired of it. She wanted it gone. So she clenched her eyes tight and begged with everything in her heart for it to change. She didn’t direct this wish to anything in particular. She didn’t know what her thoughts on God were. But she beamed this desire out in every direction, in the vain hope that something, somewhere, might be listening.

 

She stayed in the cathedral for some time, then went to an Armenian restaurant and got lamb kabobs. She ate them slowly, savoring the time outside of the courthouse, until the lunch recess was long over. 

At 1:30 she looked at her watch. Cormoran’s testimony had been going on for half an hour already. She knew that she didn’t have to go back and watch, and a significant part of her wanted nothing more than to go home and hide under the covers. But the thought of Cormoran facing the full force of Maison’s interrogation pulled her back. It’s what they did for each other. They were there when it was hard.

 

She slipped into the back of the courtroom, taking care not to make any disturbance or fuss, and sat in the farthest seat of the gallery. Doctor Chan had finished his questioning and Maison was at the front, working in full form.

“Why didn’t you call the police when you first got the video call from Missus Ross?” Maison asked.

“She kept me on video the entire time I went over, to make sure that I didn’t contact the police. I didn’t want to make any attempts because I was afraid of what she might do to Robin.”

“And the dog followed you this entire time?”

“Yes.”

“You say that Missus Ross was implying that she wanted to kill you.”

“She implied that she wanted to commit suicide together, yes.”

“And at the time you believed that she would do this?”

“Yes.”

“And yet you went anyways.”

“Yes.”

“Believing that she would try to kill you.”

“That is correct.”

“And when you arrived, you put up no fight at all.”

“That is correct.”

“You claim that you let Mister Cunliffe tie you to a wheelchair, and did not fight back.”

“Yes.”

“You are a renowned boxer, Mister Strike, and have proven your fighting skills many times in your career. You could have easily taken Mister Cunliffe. Why didn’t you?”

“Robin’s life was in danger.”

Robin was stunned by this revelation. She had never heard Cormoran’s full side of the story before. They rarely talked about that night at all. 

“So you were willing to give your life up for your partner?”

“Yes.”

“The partner who you claim to have no romantic feelings for whatsoever?”

There was a beat. Maison smirked, believing that he had Cormoran cornered. Cormoran cleared his throat.

“Robin…” Cormoran started, then paused and began again. “When Robin came into my life, I was homeless, my business was failing, and my relationship had ended in deep…” He sighed. “Deep heartbreak.” Robin found herself leaning forward in her chair. “Robin turned my business around. She is amazing at her job. She surpasses my expectations every day. She is a dear friend, and I don’t know what I would do without her. I care about her a great deal. But I am not romantically attracted to her. Not in any way.” His voice grew hard and cold. “Now, if romantic attraction was the only reason we sacrifice ourselves for others, then the world would be in very sorry shape. If I only sacrificed myself for the sake of romantic attraction, I would not have saved the life of Richard Anstis, and I certainly would not have taken fire to save the lives of my fellow men in Bosnia, for which I received a medal of honor. I am not, and have never been attracted to Robin. Not sexually, not romantically. But she is an amazing human being, and I would give my life for her in an instant.”

Robin didn’t know what she had been expecting. Did she really think he would make a proclamation of undying love from the witness stand? Of course not. She closed her eyes and let his words crash against her, like freezing waves against a bluff.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry... We'll get there...


	60. Lance's Testimony

 

Lance Wielder stood at the stand, looking like a plucked chicken.

“Did Robin Cunliffe attacked you in the stairway to her office?” Maison asked.

“No. She acted in self-defense,” Lance said, “I threatened her.”

“Why did you threaten her?”

“I thought… I thought it’s what she wanted, but it wasn’t.”

“Why did you think that?”

“I already told you, it’s because I got a phone call from a woman saying that she wanted me to threaten her.”

“And this woman on the phone was not Robin Cunliffe.”

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“Because afterwards Robin told me that it wasn’t her.”

“And you believe the woman who attacked you in the hallway?”

Lance looked around, unsure of what was happening.

“Yes,” he said.

“You said that there was also a man with a soft, high voice.”

“Yes.”

“Who do you believe that man to be?”

“Matthew Cunliffe.”

“Does Matthew Cunliffe have a soft, high voice?”

“No, but it would be easy to fake that.”

“Who did the man on the phone claim to be?”

“Cormoran Strike, but-”

“Does Cormoran Strike have a soft high voice?”

“No.”

“So Matthew Cunliffe would fake a soft high voice but Cormoran Strike would not?” Maison asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Matthew was the only one who knew what Robin’s rapist’s voice sounded like.”

“So now you’re saying that Robin’s rapist called you.”

“No, it was Matthew.”

“And you know this because the woman who attacked you told you so.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police when she attacked you?”

“I was a sex worker, and I thought it would be bad for business to have the police involved.”

 

Nick Herbert had enough. He loved his wife and he loved his best friend, but he couldn’t sit and watch for one more second. He quietly left the courtroom and went outside. The rain had stopped but the clouds were still full and threatening.

He found Cormoran smoking in front of the courthouse and sat down on a bench next to him. He didn’t need to tell Cormoran how it was going inside. Cormoran know. They sat in silence for a while, watching the plume of smoke from Cormoran’s cigarette bleed into the grey sky.

“Nick,” Cormoran said, “Why do I fuck up everything I touch?”

“You did decently well in there, I thought. You described Charlotte to a T.” He glanced at Cormoran sideways. “And I think you convinced the jury that you have no romantic feelings for Robin.”

Cormoran sighed heavily.

“That was the goal, wasn’t it.”

“Those of us who actually know you remain unconvinced.”

“Yes, well. There’s more important things at stake here than my love life.”

“That is very true. But neither of us want to talk about the case right now, and talking about football at a moment like this just seems tacky.” 

Cormoran hummed in agreement.

“So are you ever going to tell her?” Nick asked.

Cormoran barked out a humorless laugh.

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous,” he said, “Why would I want to ruin the one good thing in my life right now?”

“I wouldn’t say she’s the one good thing. You’re making progress in PT. Plus you’ve become a damn good cook.”

“I can stand on my leg for three seconds. I wouldn’t call that progress. I would call that pathetic.”

“Fine. Cross Physical Therapy off the list. At least you’ve become a damn good cook.”

Cormoran wasn’t ready to let go of his bad mood yet, but he couldn’t help but twitch out a smile.

“You know women love good cooks,” Nick said, “Hell, I was halfway in love with you myself when you made that honey sriracha beef.” 

“Don’t tell Ilsa.”

Nick leaned back against the cold stone of the building.

“I’m curious,” Nick said, “You’ve never had a problem with women. You’ve shagged some of the most beautiful girls on earth. And that’s not just my personal preference, The Mirror just rated Ciara Porter one of the most beautiful girls on earth.” Cormoran tried not to look smug about this. “Women love you,” Nick went on, “I’ve never known you to be rejected by anybody. So why are you so terrified of telling Robin the truth?”

Cormoran crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and considered this.

“I have good luck with women because I know my type, and they know me,” Cormoran said, “There’s some women who don’t want a man, they want a mattress. Something stable and comfortable that they can throw themselves on and cry. Add on the job and the war history and suddenly I’m exciting as well.” 

“Ah, yes, the 007 appeal. Little do they know you’re really just out all night eating crisps and waiting for the couple to shag in front of the window.”

“Exactly. Robin knows that. She’s right there next to me, stealing all my crisps. She’s stable. More stable than me, by a long shot. She’s smart and funny and together. She comes from a good family with a dog and ponies in the countryside. She’s good in a way that I will never be.”

“You know Ilsa is much too good for me, right?”

“I knew that from the day I introduced you.”

“Eventually I just had to get over that, and go for it anyways.”


	61. Colleen's Testimony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are wonderful. You keep me motivated and inspired. Thank you for all your comments.

The trial limped on through the week like a kicked dog. Doctor Chan called up CSIs, paramedics, doctors, and police officers. He got several of Cormoran’s old army friends to attest to his character, and several of Charlotte’s former friends and lovers to illustrate her complete inability to tell the truth. He presented Robin’s DNA on the zip-ties and the nail. He presented her hair in the back seat of the car. He called on witnesses who had seen Charlotte half-carrying her towards a car, but nobody could say for certain who forced who into the back seat. He called up witness after witness, but Maison worked like a wood chipper, mechanically destroying every piece of evidence they had.

Every night Robin applied two coats of clear nail polish, but by the end of the day she had picked it all off again. A lawyer friend of Ilsa’s hired them to do some small grunt jobs for him, so they spent the days in court and the nights doing basic jobs, catching maybe two or three hours of sleep if they were lucky. They both knew that the job was mostly a charity case, but their funds were running on fumes and they were grateful for whatever they could get.

 

On Friday Doctor Chan called Colleen Duvoir to the stand. She looked very small under the gaze of the room, and Robin wondered what Chan intended by having her there.

“Miss Duvoir,” he said, “Did Matthew Cunliffe ever use your husband’s computer or cellphone?”

“Yes sir.” She reminded Robin of a shaved lamb, trembling and small.

“How often?”

“Quite often. He would come over on nights when Robin was working late and use the computer to send emails.”

“Did he say why he needed to use yours to do it?”

“He said he was doing things that Robin shouldn’t see," she said, "Because she was too nosy at home and went through his devices. When I asked what sort of things he didn’t want her to see, he said he was planning her a surprise birthday party. I didn’t believe this, because he never invited me or told me anything more about it, but I didn’t think it was my place to start stirring up trouble. That’s what I thought at the time.”

“Did you ever look at what he was doing?” Chan asked.

“He usually shut the door and made sure I wasn’t looking. One time I looked at the history and there was a gmail account in the history, but of course it was logged out so I couldn’t see who it was. My husband and I both just use Yahoo, is why I noticed.”

“What about phone calls?”

“He made a few of those. I could listen in on those more." She stuck out her chin in child-like pride. "I have an excellent sense of hearing.”

“What would you hear?” 

“Usually it was just planning type things. ‘Call this person at this time,’ you know the sort. Sometimes they talked about money. He was wanting to pay somebody, but couldn’t afford it. Then towards the end there was a terrific row.”

“Do you remember the date?"

"September 15, I think."

"Think now, can you remember anything that was said?”

“He was shouting, asking ‘Is this what you planned all along?’ and then, ‘Do you realize what will happen to me if this goes south?’ I didn’t know what to think, especially as the next week Matthew was beaten with a pipe. I thought maybe he had some bad gambling debts or something.”

“When you brought in the computer all the passwords were already cracked. How did you manage that?” Chan asked.

“My husband Darrin used to always make fun of Matthew for only using one of two computer passwords for everything. They work in finance, so there’s a lot of computers and such. He used to tease Matthew by calling him Wonder Boy, because one of the passwords he always uses for everything is WonderBoy72. So I typed that in and it worked.” She looked around her. “I know that seems like it’s too stupid to be real, but it’s true. You have to remember that Darrin and Matthew are best friends. It would never cross Matthew’s mind to not trust Darrin. They would willingly take a bullet for the other. They barely think of me at all, and when they do it’s certainly not as a threat." She sighed. "It’s not hard to get information when everybody underestimates you.”

“I have given the complete transcript to the jury to examine,” Chan said, “It is three months of emails between the addresses  [ shiningarmor@gmail.com ](mailto:shiningarmor@gmail.com) and  [ clodia2@live.com ](mailto:clodia2@live.com) . The most important parts have been highlighted for your convenience.”

 

Robin had asked Colleen about the emails the night before. She had been hesitant to bring it up earlier, but curiosity had gotten the best of her. Colleen had smiled for the first time since she’d moved into the hotel. 

“Everything,” she’d said, “The photo of you on your wedding day, plans on hiring Lance, plans on putting Charlotte’s Xanax in your drink. The only thing that wasn’t there was any real names. Maison is going to press on that point.”

But sitting in the courtroom, watching the jury’s faces pouring over the packet of emails, Robin knew that they were going to win. They still had a week to go, but it might as well be white noise. They were going to win.


	62. The Costume

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a nice long one today. I felt like getting away from the trial and writing a little happy fluff. Plus I wanted to put that outfit in somewhere.

Coco’s phone rang on Saturday morning. It was Saint Lucia day, and Coco had surprised Lance by serving him breakfast pastries in bed, while wearing nothing but a wreath of candles. She licked frosting off her fingers before picking up the phone.

“Hello Robin. Happy Saint Lucia day.”

“What?” Robin said.

“The holy feast of the Swedes. We wear flaming headdresses and eat cinnabuns in bed. What’s up?”

“I need your help,” Robin said, "I'll pay you."

“Go on.”

“I have a client who believes that her husband is cheating on her with a performer at the Windmill Club. I’ve photographed him going in every Sunday night, but of course I can’t go in myself.”

“Right. The only women allowed in the Windmill are the entertainment. WAIT.” Robin could practically hear Coco’s eyes widen over the phone. “You plan on going in as the entertainment, don’t you?”

“Have you ever danced there before?”

“Just once. It was not my favorite. It paid well, but they lumped me in with the strippers, and while I respect stripping for what it is, it is not the same thing as burlesque.”

“Do you think you could get us in? We wouldn’t perform, I just need to get in the door.”

“I think I could get us in the door. I know one of their regular dancers. Let me call her and see. I’ll call you back in a few.”

Robin hung up. She called Cormoran and left a message, telling him that she had could probably get in. He had considered paying the extensive membership fee to get in the front door, but even then it would take a long time for them to look over his information and accept him through their doors. The Windmill was known for its exclusivity.

Coco called back a half hour later.

“Alright Robin, you’re the luckiest woman on earth,” she said.

“That’s a laugh. But go on.”

“My friend Angelique performs there every Sunday and she said that she can sneak us in the back tomorrow night as long as we look the part and don’t cause any trouble.”

“I think I can handle that.”

“We’ll have to do something about your hair. Catching you stripping at the Windmill would be Maison’s dream come true.”

 

Coco and Robin wore heavy coats and scarves and ran as fast as they could from the car to the club to keep the icy wind off of their bare legs. Angelique ushered them in through the back door. Angelique was an amazonian of a woman, taller even than Robin. She was wearing red feathers everywhere, even on her eyelashes, and looked like a large exotic bird. She and Coco embraced without minimal touching and Angelique ushered them into the women’s dressing room.

“Coco told me about what you do, Robin,” Angelique said. Her voice was deep and watery. “It sounds fascinating.”

“It’s mostly just sitting and waiting,” Robin said, “But it does bring me to interesting situations like this one.”

She removed her coat and scarf. 

Coco had been spot-on when it came to Robin’s birthday gift; the old burlesque costume fit Robin almost perfectly. They had covered Robin’s hair with a black bouffant wig leftover from Coco’s halloween costume as a pinup girl from two years previous. Robin looked at herself in the mirror, turning from side to side, watching how the silver fringe moved with her. She was glad that it wasn’t too revealing. It was practically modest compared to most swimsuits, covering her from chest to thigh with cutouts on the sides. She pursed her lips and tried a sexy wink. She felt utterly ridiculous.

“I did not get you a table to perform on,” Angelique said, “But Coco said that would be fine.”

“More than fine. I’m not ready to perform on stage yet,” Robin said hurriedly.

“Dancers can move about the room, but we do not order drinks and we only speak to the gentlemen when spoken to. We get to keep any tips from dances. If you ever feel unsafe, go to Raul, he's the bouncer at the door and he'll take care of you.”

“That sounds good.”

“Shall we, then?”

 

Robin had never been to a gentlemen’s club before. She had been to a few strip clubs in her time as an investigator, but this was a very different scene. The Windmill was what other strip clubs wanted to be when they grew up. It smelled like leather and cigar smoke and money. Men sat in deep leather chairs clustered about in the dark, with large glittering votives on each table. There were crystal chandeliers and an ornate bar lit in purples and blues. There was no need for a sign forbidding masturbation in this club, all its members had been hand-picked from the upper echelon of London society. However, there was no denying that, in spite of its classy appearance, it was still a strip club. Two young women in pasties and thongs were grinding on poles at either end of the room, and Robin could feel the heat of the men’s want clinging to her skin. It made her itch, and she looked around for her target, a balding blond named Erik. 

She wandered across the room, peering around at every table. One man asked her for a dance, and she shot him an apologetic smile.

“You’ll be up next,” she said, “I’m reserved for another gentleman right now.”

 

Cormoran recognized her immediately, in spite of the dark and the ridiculous wig. He could recognize her walk from a mile away. She sparkled with every step. The fringe caught on her curves like water and threw reflective beams of light when she moved. She made him forget how to breath.

 

Table after table or leering men. Robin could understand why Coco didn’t like working here. She looked again at the empty space on her left hand, missing the protection that an engagement ring brought.

Suddenly she heard somebody hiss her name and felt a hand close around her elbow. She was about to spin and land a hard blow to her attacker’s face when he whispered again.

“Robin. What the fuck are you doing here?” It was Cormoran.

“Cormoran? What are  _ you _ doing here?”

“Did you not get my message? Al is a member of this club. He got me in as his guest.”

“Coco snuck me in as an entertainer.”

Cormoran looked down at her outfit and felt his blood pressure rise. His eyes widened. He had seen her wearing it from a distance, but now, here, right here...

“I… I see. Are you going to be… entertaining?”

“No, don’t worry. I just needed to get in the door to snap some photos. Have you seen our target yet?”

He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. He knew that it was wildly inappropriate, perverted even, but her soft white curves were everywhere, they were everything, and he couldn’t look away. It didn’t help that his wheelchair left him exactly at breast level.

“I…” Finally he managed to wrench his eyes away from her body and look her in the eye. He felt dazzled, like he’d stared at the sun. “Yes, I have. He’s over at the far end of the bar. But he’s not with anybody.”

“It’s only a matter of time.”

“You’re confident that he’s actually having an affair?”

Robin’s face grew hard and bitter.

“I know his type.”

“Al and I got a table with a good view of the bar, if you care to join us.”

“Please. The only way they allow women at a table is if she’s giving a lap dance.”

If Cormoran had had a drink he would have spit it out.

“Jesus Christ, no, don’t do that,” he sputtered. Robin grinned. 

“I’ll be up by the bar.”

“Alright.” 

She turned to leave. 

“Wait,” he said.  She looked back. 

"Do you have a camera?” he asked.

“Of course I have a camera,” she said. Cormoran looked confused.

“Where?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she said with a heavy wink. 

She strutted away beaming, glowing from the inside out. She felt beautiful. She felt invincible. 

 

Cormoran wheeled back to the table he shared with Al.

“That’s your partner?” Al said. 

“Yeah.”

“You have got to do something about that, brother.”

Cormoran grinned into his pint.

“I will. I have a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what she's wearing: https://image.invaluable.com/housePhotos/profilesinhistory/73/547973/H3257-L57692504.jpg


	63. Matthew's testimony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am exhausted. Spent all evening making pussy hats for the women's march tomorrow, so this is barely edited. I don't know if there's gonna be marches where you guys are at, but you should go if there are. They're really fun!

 

Cormoran and Robin barely looked at each other in court the next morning. He flushed scarlet when he saw her, and Robin couldn’t hide her smirk. 

Maison began the day with character witnesses. He called in several of Matthew’s coworkers and superiors at work who attested to his responsibility and all-around goodness, and didn’t mind throwing in a bad word or two about Robin while they were at it.

Matthew’s doctor was then called to the stand. He pulled up several diagrams of Matthew’s brain and pointed out a large red area on the side of the skull.

“Mister Cunliffe has what is called Retrograde Amnesia,” the doctor said, “It means that he cannot remember the events leading up to the traumatic event. It was sharp blow to the temporal lobe, which is often linked to the storage of memory. There was some inflammation of the tissue which caused…”

Robin stopped listening. She was too busy looking at the picture of Matthew’s battered brain on the front screen. She had been the cause of that angry red dent in his skull. That had been her. She could remember how it felt to swing the hammer, the crack as it came down, the feeling of his skull give way under the weight of the blow. It had been harder than she had expected, sending shock-waves up her arm when the hammer made contact. When they were children she and her brothers would go out the weekend after halloween and buy discount pumpkins, then spend the afternoon happily smashing them with shovels until they were nothing but an orange mess. That’s how it felt when the hammer came down on Matthew’s head, the same give, the same rigidity. She stared down at her hands. She felt like they belonged to somebody else. How had her small soft hands been able to inflict so much damage? She had done it with no thought or planning. She had just moved, smoothly, effortlessly, and committed an irreversible act of violence to her husband. She knew that it was the only option, she knew what he had done, what he was planning to do, but she still looked down at her hands and felt like lady Macbeth.  _ All the perfumes of Arabia could not sweeten this little hand.  _ She picked at her nail polish.

 

Matthew came to the stand next, looking slightly lost and bewildered. He had lost weight and looked every inch the part of a man wronged.

“Mister Cunliffe,” Maison said, “Can you tell me about the night of October seventh?”

“I’m afraid I can’t, sir,” Matthew replied, “I have no memory of that evening at all.”

“What’s the last thing you remember before your head injury?”

“I remember making Robin pancakes. It was her birthday. I wanted to make it special.”

“Did you lace the breakfast with anything? A drug or pill?”

Matthew’s face flowed with righteous indignation.

“Of course not! I would never do such a thing.”

“Good. Let’s move on. How well do you know Miss Charlotte Ross?”

“I have seen her at various social and work events. Her husband, Jago Ross, uses our accounting firm to handle his finances.”

“Is that the extent of your relationship?”

“Yes. We have occasionally exchanged pleasantries, but nothing more than smalltalk.”

“You never emailed her.”

“No.”

“What is your email address?”

“I have two. My work email is  [ mcunliffe@ffbank.org ](mailto:mcunliffe@ffbank.org) , and my social email is  [ mattcliff@yahoo.com ](mailto:mattcliff@yahoo.com) .”

“Have you ever used the email  [ shiningarmor@gmail.com ](mailto:shiningarmor@gmail.com) ?”

“No.”

“Do you know anybody with the email  [ clodia2@live.com ](mailto:clodia2@live.com) ?”

“No.”

“Did you ever use Darrin Devoir’s computer or telephone?”

Matthew immediately flushed scarlet. Robin leaned forward, eager to hear him slip up.

“Yes, I did.”

“Often?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I have… needs…” he started. Robin couldn’t remember a time when he’d looked so uncomfortable. “Needs that my wife was… unable to fulfill. So I used other resources.”

“Can you tell us more about those needs?”

“I am a…” His face could have burned a hole through paper. “I am a submissive lover. I like being tied up, and… I like pain. Robin… Robin refused.”

Robin’s jaw was on the floor. This was completely untrue; Matthew had never expressed any desire for bondage, and had always preferred being on top and in control. What truly surprised Robin, however, was that he was willing to say these things aloud. Matthew had always valued his image above all else, and liked to put across an appearance of constant power and togetherness. This confession went against all of that completely.

“So when you went over to Darrin’s house, what were you doing?” Maison asked.

Matthew mumbled something incoherently.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Mister Cunliffe. Everybody has their personal preferences. Now, could you repeat that?”

“I was watching pornography and calling hotlines,” Matthew said, slightly louder.

“How was your marriage aside from this issue?”

“My marriage was wonderful. I love my wife. I love her more than anything in this world. She…” Matthew covered his mouth, overcome by emotion. “She is my whole life.” 

Robin noticed several of the jurors tilting their heads in sympathy and wanted to scream.

“No further questions,” Maison said.

“Very well. Counselor Chan, you may cross-examine the witness,” the judge said. Doctor Chan stood and walked casually over to where Matthew was standing.

“Hello, Matthew,” he said with a smile, “It’s been a long time since I saw you last. It’s good to see you.”

Matthew blinked at Chan stupidly.

“I’m not going to take too much more of your time today,” Chan said, “I just have a few questions.”

“Alright.” Matthew was prepared for a fight, and now looked utterly baffled.

“What are your feelings about Cormoran Strike?”

Matthew couldn’t stop the momentary microexpression of complete rage that flashed across his face, but he composed himself in a second.

“I do not trust him,” Matthew said.

“Why not?”

“He puts my wife in dangerous situations. She’s been in car accidents, she’s been threatened, she’s been stabbed.”

“And you see Cormoran as the cause of all of this.”

“Yes. She wouldn’t be doing it if it wasn’t for him.”

“Has she told you this?”

“No, but it’s obvious. He treats her like shit, but she keeps running back. She risks her life for him all the time. It’s killing her.”

“Had she ever expressed interest in a job as some sort of investigator before this?”

Matthew’s face scrunched up as he tried to figure out why Chan was asking and how he should answer.

“Yes… When we were children…” Matthew said.

“What would you do to protect your marriage?” Chan asked.

“Objection!” Maison called out, “Speculation!”

“Sustained,” the judge said, “What are you getting at, Doctor Chan?”

“I want to know if Matthew would consider violence if it meant protecting his marriage and his wife.”

Matthew didn’t need to answer. His face was enough.


	64. Charlotte's Testimony

 

Robin’s family had returned home over the weekend, and after Monday even Coco and Lance could no longer afford to take any more time off work. Robin was feeling the absence of her support network as the judge called the courtroom to order. Matthew and Charlotte’s families were wealthy enough to take off as much time as they needed, so their side of the courtroom was still filled. On Robin’s side it was just her and Cormoran.

As usually, the day began with character witnesses. Robin was satisfied to see that the only character witnesses reliable enough to speak for Charlotte was Jago Ross. She had seen the occasional photograph of him, but if anything they had not done justice to his good looks. His blond curls were just messy enough, his face just square enough, his eyes the perfect shade of blue. He gave his oath with a level of gravity that made him instantly seem responsible and trustworthy. 

“He’s a fit gentleman, isn’t he?” a voice whispered next to her. Robin turned to see Ishtahar sliding onto the bench beside her. Robin gasped with joyful surprise.

“Did I say that right?” Ishtahar asked, “Fit? That’s what you call them, correct?”

“Ishtahar,” Robin whispered, “What are you doing here?”

“I was next door for some immigration red tape and thought I would stop in on my friend.”

Robin grabbed Ishtahar’s hand. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, “Thank you so much.”

Ishtahar squeezed her hand and they faced their attention back to the front of the room. Jago Ross was stiff and emotionless as he testified, attesting to Charlotte’s responsibility as a step-mother and wife as it it was a recommendation for employment.

"Whenever my children come over she helps them with their homework and plays games with them," he said, "She treats the household help like they're members of the family. Her kindness knows no boundaries."

“Was your wife Charlotte having an affair with Cormoran Strike?” Maison asked. Jago looked down at his hands, then sighed and nodded.

“Yes,” he said, “Our families wanted us to be married. My children needed a mother in their lives, and I wanted a partner. Our relationship was an old-fashioned partnership, and we worked well together. It did not have much passion, but we got that from other places.”

“So you didn’t have a problem with her seeing Cormoran Strike?”

“It didn’t interfere with our relationship, so no.”

“No further questions.”

“He reminds me of my first husband,” Ishtahar whispered, “All business. No love.”

Charlotte’s doctor was called to the stand next to describe Charlotte’s injuries. She had been bitten three times: on the stomach, on the face, and on the leg. An Animal Control Officer then placed stencils of Baby’s bite pattern over photographs of Charlotte’s wounds to prove that it had, in fact, been Baby who had bitten her.

“Nobody is denying it,” Robin muttered, “Why do they have to prove this? I already told them that Baby did it.”

Charlotte’s testimony was almost work-for-word identical to what she had said on the talk-show earlier in the month. The same romance with Cormoran, the same threats, the same dog attack, the same story of being tied up in the car. Robin was almost disappointed. She had been expecting some sort of bomb to drop, but it was just the same finger-pointing. Robin felt her sleepless nights weigh heavily on her shoulders.

“She dragged me inside her husband’s abandoned office,” Charlotte said, “And put me in the basement. I waited for her to turn around, and then I slipped out of the zipties. I jumped at her and managed a punch to her face that knocked out her front teeth and left her unconscious. I used the zip-ties she’d used to bind me and tied her wrists to the boiler. Then I fainted. When I woke up again I was in the hospital. I had suffered blood loss and needed a transfusion.”

“Had you met Miss Ellacott before?” Maison asked.

“No.”

“What about Mister Cunliffe?”

“I had seen him around, but never knew him well.”

“What is your email address?”

“I have three. My first is  [ hon.mrs.ross@gmail.com ](mailto:hon.mrs.ross@gmail.com) . I also have  [ cross92@yahoo.com ](mailto:cross92@yahoo.com) and  [ palomanegra@yahoo.com ](mailto:palomanegra@comcast.com) .”

“Have you ever used the email  [ clodia2@live.com ](mailto:clodia2@live.com) ?”

“No. I didn’t know live.com was even an email provider.”

“No further questions.”

Chan stood and straightened his wig. The day before, with Matthew, he had been relaxed and unthreatening, like he was talking to an old friend. Today he maintained his friendly attitude, but seemed more blunt and to-the point, like he was having a difficult conversation with a misbehaving child.

“So Charlotte," he said, "I'm going to get right to it. You were pregnant with Cormoran’s baby.”

“Yes.”

“When was that?”

“I miscarried on March 20th, 2010.” She sniffed. “My baby would be walking by now if it wasn’t for Cormoran Strike.”

“Did you ever see a doctor for this pregnancy?”

“No. He wouldn’t let me. He wanted me to get an abortion.”

“And you stayed together with him after this?”

“Yes.”

“Even when you got engaged to Jago Ross?”

“Yes. I already told Maison, Jago and I had an agreement…”

“Yes, but you didn’t take any breaks in your relationship with Cormoran between then?”

Charlotte’s eyes darted back and forth. She didn’t know what he was playing at.

“No.”

“How did you contact him in this relationship?”

“I… We had burner phones that we used to call each other.”

“Not email?”

“No.” Her voice was growing more and more uncertain.

“Who had access to your official wedding photos the day after your wedding?”

“What?”

“Objection!” Maison said, “Irrelevant!”

“Does this have a point, Doctor Chan?” the judge asked.

“It does. I'm getting there.” He turned back to Charlotte. “Who had access to your official wedding photos the day after your wedding?” he repeated.

“My wedding?”

“Yes. To Jago Ross.”

“Well, I guess I did, and Jago, and the wedding photographer. The photographer didn’t send the photos out to the magazines until three days after.”

“So on the sixth of December, 2010, did you send Cormoran Strike an email with a wedding photo?”

“I… What?”

“Did you or did you not send Cormoran Strike a wedding photo on December sixth, 2010?” He turned to the jury. “This email, sent to Cormoran Strike from  [ clodia2@live.com ](mailto:clodia2@live.com) is exhibit M.”

“I… No. No I did not.” Her face was bloodlessly pale.

“So was it you, Jago, or the photographer?”

“It was…” Her eyes darted to her husband, then back again. “It was Jago! It must have been Jago!”

Jago was trembling with rage in his seat. His face turned very red, and his teeth were bared. Robin would have found it almost comical if it wasn’t so terrifying. He looked like a rabid animal.

“What the fuck, Charlotte,” he said, his voice high and trembling, “What the fuck are you doing.”

Robin looked at Ishtahar and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE ALMOST THERE!


	65. Physical Therapy

The jury left to deliberate. When Robin had been in a trial last, Chappell had been so obviously guilty that the jury had only deliberated for a day before coming to their verdict. Now, however, it was predicted to take at least a week. She knew that the jury would want to be done before Christmas, and she hoped that this wouldn’t force them into making a rushed decision. She considered this as she got home. She only had a few weeks left on her rent, and had to finish packing, but as soon as she got in the door she sat on the sofa and fell fast asleep.

 

Cormoran went from the courtroom to the doctor. He’d gone in for X-rays twice so far, once after being brought in and once when his cast had been changed. He hated X-rays. For some reason the thought of somebody seeing inside of him, seeing his bones, made him feel severely violated. He was grateful when he was able to get off the X-ray table and go downstairs to physical therapy.

Cormoran had been surprised about how much he enjoyed physical therapy. When he had needed it the first time, after losing his leg, physical therapy had seemed like a practice in humiliation and pain. It was still painful this time around, of course, it wouldn’t be doing much good if it wasn’t, but the difference was made entirely by his therapist, Su-Bin Chae. Su-Bin was a mountain of a woman, as tall as him and eight months pregnant. When she wasn’t doing physical therapy she was a mixed martial artist, so they often shared fighting tips and techniques while working on his exercises. Cormoran was confident that she was one of the few people who could have kicked his ass even during the height of his boxing career. She was very funny in a raw, crude way that was countered by an unexpected girly enthusiasm.

The thigh-high cast on Cormoran’s left leg had been replaced with a half-leg cast covering him from foot to knee, and a heavy-duty knee brace that allowed him to bend his knee in very controlled movements. She watched him stand and sit, both with and without the help of crutches. She took notes as he used his crutches to walk the length of the room and back. He laid on his side and lifted his leg up and down. He walked up a small set of stairs. By the time he finished and sank back into the wheelchair he was sweating and shaky from exertion and everything hurt, but Su-Bin was practically vibrating with excitement.

“You’re making amazing progress,” she raved, “I don’t know how you’re healing so fast.”

“I do everything you tell me to,” Cormoran explained, “I’d do my exercises all day every day if it got me out of this fucking chair.”

“Well, I got back your X-ray results, and your doctor and I both agree..." She grinned, building up suspense. "That it’s time for you to get out of that cast!”

Cormoran’s head jerked forward in surprise.

“No. Really? You’re serious?”

“Merry Christmas, Mister Strike. Now, your right leg sustained more damage, so that cast is going to stay on for a bit longer. You’re going to stay in the knee brace, as well, and we’re going to fit you with a boot on your left foot, but you will be able to move around on crutches.”

Cormoran was speechless. He wasn’t the crying type, but for a moment he wondered if he might give into emotion.

“We can get the cast removed tomorrow morning at the earliest,” she said.

“And the other leg?” Cormoran asked, “When will I be off crutches?”

“Let’s focus on one thing at a time now, shall we, Mister Strike?”

Cormoran shook his head.

“When will I be able to use my prosthesis again?”

Su-Bin sighed, her excitement draining a bit.

“Your knee has been significantly weakened, and stress fractures are already more common after a fracture. Add onto that the fact that your bone has changed shape during the healing process…”

“How long?”

“Right now I’m going to say at least a year before you can wear a prosthesis again.”

Cormoran shut his eyes. He felt like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer all over again.  _ A year _ …

“I’m sorry,” she said, “But you remember that when you first came in we told you three years, if ever. This is a step forward.”

“I know, I know. I was just hoping…”

“You were hoping what everybody hopes. It’s totally normal to feel discouraged. But you have to remember that you are going to get there.”

“I just…” He scratched his neck. “There’s a girl. A woman, I mean. There’s a… There’s a woman.”

“I see.”

“And she’s seen me without my leg, that’s not a problem, but I had a plan, a plan that involved two legs, and now…”

“Are you talking about sex?” Su-Bin asked, “Because you can do that with one leg. You can do that with no legs.”

Cormoran reeled back.

“God, no! No, no, we’re not… We’re… I just…”

“Why don’t you tell me your plan, and I’ll show you how to do whatever the hell you want on crutches.”


	66. Normalcy

 

Robin returned to the office like nothing had happened. The only thing that had changed was the new door sign reading “Ellacott and Strike” instead of “Cunliffe and Strike”. The past months had been disorienting and scary. Her entire life in London had been blown to pieces and she hadn’t had any solid ground to stand on. Her marriage, her apartment, her office, everything had disappeared. Now, as she sat back down at her same desk and turned on her same computer, Robin felt something slide back into place inside her chest.

Cormoran also felt the impact of her return. The small, cramped office had seemed cavernous in her absence, deathly silent without her tapping away at the computer in the front room. Having her back energized him like a shot of espresso. He found himself pushing through paperwork in record time and smiling subconsciously for no reason at all.

It was a quiet day. No new cases, no new clients, just writing up reports and responding to emails. It was beautiful in it’s normalcy. The light moved across the floor in its familiar pattern, sirens and horns sounded outside, the rain beat against the window. The radiator trembled and clanked in the corner and filled the office with the cozy smell of burning dust.

At lunchtime Cormoran heated up his leftover stir-fry from the night before and sat down to eat on the sofa. Robin followed suit and stopped working, pulling out her own boxed salad.

“So originally you were planning on going to back to Masham this Friday,” Cormoran said, “You still going to do that?”

Robin shook her head, a micro-expression of grief flitting across her face and then disappearing.

“No, what with the trial, and the divorce, and moving out of the flat, it’s just too complicated. I’ve been taking so many trips down there, it’s not like I haven’t been seeing them. And it’s expensive, and…” She sighed. “It just makes sense for me to stay here.” This was only part of the truth. Christmas had always been spent jointly with the Cunliffes. They went to church together on Christmas Eve and had Christmas tea together on the day of. She knew that her parents wouldn’t be doing that this year, but she also knew that the absence of the tradition would be just as glaring as the tradition itself, like a face scribbled out of a photograph.

“I’m sorry,” Cormoran said, “Your first time away for Christmas?”

“Yes.” She pushed her salad around with her fork, musing. “I was always a stickler for tradition,” she said, “Caroling, and church on Christmas Eve, and the yule log, all of that. I was always the one who kept those traditions alive, even when all the other kids acted too cool for it. And now it seems like I’m going to be the only one in my family to be breaking all of those traditions.”

Cormoran wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. He knew that she was sad, but he doubted that any amount of encouragement would do any good.

“In Cornwall they have a tradition called the Christmas Swim,” he said, “Where at 11 in the morning of Christmas day everybody runs into the sea together. It’s so cold your ears stop working the minute to go underwater, and you get a brain freeze that lasts all day. No wetsuits allowed.” He smiled wistfully. “It wasn’t a real Christmas until you had to shout for the rest of the day because you’d gotten ice water in your ear-holes.”

“What are you doing this Christmas?” Robin asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe go see Nick and Ilsa, maybe see Lucy. Not particularly sold on anything at the moment. I really just want to sleep. That’s all I want for Christmas. Sleep.”

“Mariah Carey needs to rewrite her Christmas song. All I want for Christmas is sleep would be a big hit, I think.” She tossed her salad box into the trash and leaned back in her chair. “All I want for Christmas is my divorce to go through.”

“Doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one, building up to the biggy


	67. Caroling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never post at work, so excuse any typos, I'm doing this on my phone.

On the 18th Robin put everything but her bedding, her towel, and a few clothes into the back of the Land Rover. She wasn’t entirely sure where she was going to take them, but she knew that by January first she had to take them somewhere. She had been expecting extreme anxiety about this, but she looked around the half-empty flat and felt a sudden liberation. She wanted to burn sage to purify the place. Instead she drove the car to work, packed to the roof with all her earthly belongings.  
In the afternoon their last client came over, the woman who believed her husband was having an affair with a dancer at Disrepute. The woman had been correct about the affair, incorrect about the dancer: her husband was, in fact, having an affair with the male bartender. Robin had noticed a prolonged hand-clasp between them at the bar and Cormoran had snuck around back to find them embracing behind the dumpster.  
Robin had treated this case differently than others, and Cormoran reluctantly allowed her to do so. Rather than avoid all contact with the man cheating, Robin had joined him at the bar that night. Without revealing her identity, she had encouraged him to come clean to his friends and family, to love himself, and to stop living a lie. She wasn’t sure if it had worked, but she had felt wrong about outing him without at least some emotional support.  
The client was very quiet when she got the news. She seemed shell-shocked, and kept repeating “Why didn’t he tell me he was gay? Why didn’t he just tell me?” Robin was grateful that the woman didn’t respond with hate. Robin had learned over the years that when people were hit with a life-changing blow, they often resorted to their most base and vile prejudices; things they wouldn’t dream about voicing on an ordinary day. Robin gave the woman tea and biscuits and held her hand. The woman didn’t stay long. She took her photographs and left in a daze.  
“That went fairly well,” Cormoran said, “Or as well as it ever does.”  
“What a shame that he’s felt the need to hide his sexuality all these years.”  
“Your brother is gay, isn’t he?” Cormoran asked.  
“I actually don’t know what he is,” Robin said, “Jonathan does like boys, but he may be bi or pan or whatever. He never came out officially at all. He just said ‘I like this boy’ and we said ‘okay’. It’s not really an issue.”  
“Your family is pretty incredible that way.”  
“In that they’re not complete wankers?” She smiled. “No, you’re right, they’re pretty wonderful.”  
“Speaking of family,” Cormoran said, trying to keep his voice casual, “I know you said that you were missing going Christmas caroling, and I noticed that there’s going to be a caroling event at Trafalgar Square tonight, and I was wondering… Maybe you’d want to go…” He felt the room get very warm and small. “...With Coco. Go with Coco.” If he’d had his other leg he’d be kicking himself.  
“With Coco?” Robin asked, “You wouldn’t join us?”  
“I, well, if you wanted. I could, yes.”  
Robin smiled slow, like a sunrise.  
“I’d like that. I’ll ask her. I think I’ll ask Colleen as well. She could use some cheering up.”

  
They all met at The Admiralty that night for dinner; Coco, Colleen, George the baby, Robin, and, feeling very out of place, Cormoran. He looked like a rinoscerous among a group of unicorns and tried to make himself as small as possible. None of the women seemed to mind his presence, however, and they treated him like one of their number. Soon he forgot all about the strangeness of the situation and allowed himself to float of the chatter of those around him. The pub was crammed with tourists and carolers and they had to shout to be heard, so they took a seat out on the patio, grateful for the heat-lamp over their table. George kicked and babbled in his pram next to Colleen.  
“What are you doing for Christmas, Coco?” Cormoran asked.  
“I’m going home tomorrow to Peterborough. Lance is coming with me.”  
“Is this his first time meeting your family?” Colleen asked. She had met Coco briefly before, when Robin, Coco, and Lance had helped her move her things out of Darrin’s home.  
“Yes, and I’m quite nervous,” Coco said, “I don’t know if I’m more nervous about him judging my family or my family judging him. My mums are the open-minded sort, but still, a former sex worker. That’s not easy.”  
“I can’t imagine it would be,” Robin said, “Was it hard for you, knowing his sexual past?”  
Cormoran suddenly felt as though he was eavesdropping on a very personal conversation.  
“I didn’t mind his past, so much,” Coco said, “I have a pretty sordid past as well. The real problem was the present. He’d been doing sex for porn so much, he’d forgotten how to do it in real life.”  
Colleen grimaced and inhaled through her teeth.  
“Porn sex is so bad,” she said sympathetically, “Darrin learned all his moves from pornography, and he thought it made him so good in bed.” Robin was surprised by Colleen's sudden openness. She was realizing more and more the extent of Darrin’s control. When Colleen wasn't cowering under Darrin’s oppressive power she acted more like a newly enlightened coed than a 27 year old mother.  
“Yes, Lance and I had to have a little chat,” Coco said, “I said ‘Baby I love you, but Your cock is not a jackhammer, and my nipples are not joysticks.’”  
Cormoran snorted his spaghetti up his nose.  
“Did he ever try that turkey stuffing motion with handies?” Colleen said, demonstrating with her fingers. “Darrin used to do that all the time.”  
“Yes! Like he was trying to find a lightswitch up in there.”  
“God, it was so painful. Don’t they realize how sensitive we are down there? It’s like sticking your finger in somebody’s eyeball.”  
“But in a very sexy manner.” Coco said.   
Cormoran couldn’t help but laugh with them. Then he looked at Robin. She had turned very red and was pushing the chicken around on her plate. He nudged her foot with hers and she looked up at him. He raised a concerned eyebrow. She shook her head imperceptibly and tried for a distracted smile.  
“What’s up, Robin?” Coco asked, picking up on the mood change.  
“Nothing.”  
“Come on, seriously,” Coco said.  
“Alright… It’s just…” Robin tapped her finger on her fork, not knowing how to continue. “I’ve never… I can’t imagine any possible alternative to the painful ‘close your eyes and think of England’ type of… type of intimacy. I’ve never had it, and don’t think I ever will. I don’t think…” Her voice sank down to little more than a whisper. “I don’t think my body will let me.”  
Cormoran wanted to climb under the table. The conversation had gone from cheerful filth to a therapy session in under a minute, and he couldn’t think of any way that he could possibly make it better. He was torn between deep, searing empathy that hurt him in his bones, and sudden flashes of Robin’s body in the throes of passion.  
“Listen, Robin,” Coco said, “The right man is going to listen to you, and respect you, and give you what you need. And if he doesn’t, he’s not the right man.”  
“And you don’t need any of that stuff to be happy,” Colleen said, “Sex isn’t the meaning of life, no matter how much the rest of the world might try to say that.”  
“You all sound like the cover of Cosmo magazine,” Robin said, smiling in embarrassment.  
“I’m pretty sure Cosmo thinks sex is the meaning of life,” Colleen said, “That’s pretty much it’s thesis statement.”  
“We should start our own magazine,” Coco said, “All about how sex doesn’t matter and men are the worst.”  
“Except for Cormoran,” Colleen said, “We love Cormoran.”  
Cormoran bowed his head, blushing.  
“We’ll name the magazine ‘Except for Cormoran,’” Robin said.  
Trafalgar Square was lit up with an enormous Christmas tree. A stage with a choir was at one end and elderly ladies dressed as elves passed out lyric sheets and hot chocolate. Cormoran’s leg was aching, so they squeezed into a bench towards the back. Robin couldn’t help but feel a thrill at the feeling of Cormoran’s thigh pressing against hers, and she moved imperceptibly closer. The band started playing the introduction to “Joy to the World” and, with a sudden burst of confidence, Robin reached over and touched Cormoran’s hand. The wool from her sweater touched the metal of his watch and she jumped back with a jolt of static electricity.  
“Hello,” Cormoran said “You just shocked me.”  
“I guess we have electricity,” Robin said. She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth and cringed back, unable to look at Cormoran.  
“We make sparks fly,” he agreed solemnly.  
Robin glanced up at him. His face was serious, but he couldn't keep the smile from his eyes. It was dark and cold, but all around people were singing, and she had friends on either side and chocolate in her hands. Baby George was staring around in wonder with his big new eyes, and Robin could relate. Colleen was right. Some things matter more. Robin leaned her shoulder into Cormoran's.  
“Thanks for bringing me,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a lot going on in this chapter! I felt like I needed to add some of Robin's sexual issues. Sometimes I read about perfect sex and I'm like "wait wut?" So I try to counter with some realism.


	68. The Verdict

Robin had never lived alone before. She had gone directly from living with her parents to living with Matthew, with a short period of living in the university dormitory. She wandered about the half-empty apartment and decided that she liked the solitude. She could leave a trail of laundry from the door to the shower. She could watch CSI until one in the morning. She could sing along to Pumped Up Kicks without anybody reminding her that it was about school shootings. She had found a room within her budget, but it would mean sharing a house with several University girls, and the thought of giving up her newfound solitude filled her with a sense of loss. She kept looking.

She spent the morning of December 21st at an interview for an attic flat above a family of nine rowdy Catholics. The rent would be a stretch, but it had a tiny bathroom, a stovetop, and, most importantly, a separate entrance so that she could come and go when her work required strange hours. She wanted it very badly. She wanted it so badly, when the owners asked her about her religious preferences she panicked and said that she was Presbyterian. She had no idea what a Presbyterian was, and hoped that it wasn’t some kind of extremist cult.

She was googling “What is a Presbyterian” when her phone rang. It was Ilsa.

“Hello Ilsa.”

“They’ve come to a decision,” Ilsa said. Robin stopped typing. Her ears started ringing. She clutched at the phone.

“Already?” she asked. Tension constricted in her stomach.

“They’ll announce their verdict tomorrow morning at nine thirty.”

“Do you think... Do you think they sped up their decision because of the holidays?” Robin asked.

“I don’t think so," Ilsa said, "You never know. I’ve seen murder cases take three days and I’ve seen assault cases take three weeks. It all depends on the jury and the evidence.”

Robin sighed and looked up at the ceiling. She would get no sleep tonight, that was for sure.

 

The jury marched in silently, looking like a funeral procession. Robin realized that, for somebody in that room, it might as well be. No matter what the decision, lives would be irrevocably changed. It was just up to the jury to decide whose. Either her or Matthew would leave the courtroom with their life in tatters. If Matthew was found guilty he would be sent to prison. If he was found innocent Robin knew that he would never leave her alone again, he would never give her a moment’s rest, and she would never be able to stop looking over her shoulder. Her stomach turned. She had tried to self-medicate by stress-eating that morning, treating herself to an enormous breakfast, and now she regretted it.

“Will the jury please rise,” the judge said. “Will the defendants also please rise and face the jury. Madam forelady, has your jury agreed upon your verdicts?” A tiny elderly woman stepped forward. She reminded Robin of a wilting mushroom. 

“Yes,” the woman squeaked.

“What say you, Madam Forelady, as to complaint number one, wherein the defendant Charlotte Campbell Ross is charged with aggravated kidnapping. Is she guilty or not guilty?”

“Guilty.”

“Members of the jury, hearken to your verdict as the court will record it. You, upon your oath, do say that the defendant is guilty of aggravated kidnapping on complaint number one. So say you, Madam Forelady. So say you all, members of the jury.”

“What say you, Madam Forelady, as to complaint number two, wherein the defendant Charlotte Campbell Ross is charged with , is she guilty or not guilty?”

“Guilty.”

“Members of the jury, hearken to your verdict as the court will record it. You, upon your oath, do say that the defendant is guilty of conspiracy to commit murder on complaint number two. So say you, Madam Forelady. So say you all, members of the jury.”

The slow traditional rhetoric was grating on Robin. Her fingernails were pushing into her face.

“What say you, Madam Forelady, as to complaint number three, wherein the defendant Matthew John Cunliffe is charged with assault with intent to cause grievous bodily harm, is he guilty or not guilty?”

“Guilty.”

Robin was up and running for the door, her hands clamped over her mouth, her feet moving as if of their own accord. Her only thought was getting to the bathroom before vomiting up her breakfast of oatmeal, eggs, and apple pie. 

She didn’t make it to the bathroom, but she managed to throw herself at the rubbish bin just in time to get most of her sick inside.

 

Cormoran found her sitting against the trash can, her head in her arms. With great effort he managed to lower himself down beside her.

“What’d I miss?” she asked, not looking up.

“Matthew was also found guilty for conspiracy to kill. Ten years for them each,” he said.

“Merry fucking Christmas.”

Cormoran put a heavy hand on her shoulder.

“I should be more happy about this, shouldn’t I,” he said, “Charlotte going to prison. It’s what I wanted, isn’t it?”

Robin looked up at him. She had tear streaks down her face and vomit in her hair.

“I know,” she said, “They put us in an impossible situation. I can’t stop thinking about Shawshank Redemption. The prison showers. The…” She shook her head. “He’s my  _ husband _ .”

“This isn’t Shawshank Redemption. We’re not in the United States, remember? Where Matthew’s going will probably be more like Porridge.” 

Robin couldn't help but give a wobbly smile.

“I don’t want him to get off  _ that _ easy,” Robin said.

“Listen,” Cormoran said, “Nick and Ilsa want to have us over for dinner tonight to celebrate. But I understand if you want to be alone tonight.”

Robin considered.

“I don’t want to be in that apartment tonight,” she said, “But I might not be very chatty, either.”

“Me neither. But it’s Nick and Ilsa. They’re family. You could show up in your pajamas for all they care.”

“Don’t give me any ideas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I keep saying we're almost there and then I get distracted with another scene. But I PROMISE we're almost there. I figured they couldn't really get together with the verdict still out, that's just way too much pressure. But they can't do it the night of, either, cause that makes it feel like an emotionally desperate situation. I WANT IT TO BE PERFECT, YO. Maybe I'll add this in as Cormoran's internal monologue.


	69. Yule Log

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt the need to address a number of issues in this chapter.

Robin spent all afternoon skyping her family, alternately elated and bawling, so by the time she knocked on Nick and Ilsa’s door she felt like she was floating, stoned on emotions. Nick greeted her at the door in a frilly pink apron, with flour up to his elbows.

“Welcome in!” he said, “We’re all in the living room. Cormoran is making a mess of frosting biscuits. Not that Ilsa’s much better, she’s eating the icing out of the bowl with a spoon.”

Robin followed him into the warm clean house. She sat at the living room table and started squeezing icing onto gingerbread. The task was meditative, and made her feel grounded again. She had always loved decorating gingerbread, though nobody in her family particularly liked eating the biscuits themselves. It was the decorating that was the important part. 

Nick brought in an enormous yule log and set it in the fireplace.

“So this log is rubbed with different chemicals to make the flame change color,” he said, reading the paper on the outside of the log. “Lithium makes it burn red, calcium turns it orange, borax makes it green, and potassium makes it purple.”

“Oh this is wonderful,” Robin said, “My family has done a rainbow yule log every year since I was a little kid!”

“Yes, Cormoran mentioned that you did that,” Nick said.

Cormoran’s eyes widened and he made frantic cutting motions with his hands. Robin turned to Cormoran.

“Cormoran,” she said, “How did you know that we used colored yule logs?”

Cormoran was bright red.

“Your brother may have mentioned it,” he mumbled.

“You were talking to my brother?” she asked.

Cormoran ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more than usual.

“You said that you were missing your traditions,” he said, “And your family was worried about you, so I offered to help in anyway I could, so they made a list of your favorite holiday things.”

“So the caroling the other night…”

“Yes, and the decorating cookies, and the yule log.”

“What else was on that list?”

“Church on Christmas Eve, and a tree, and sledding.”

“Sledding?” Robin said, “How on earth do they expect you to take me sledding? There’s no snow!”

“I haven’t figured that one out yet.”

Robin looked at Cormoran. She knew that their relationship was deeper than that of most coworkers, deeper even than most friendships. Something inside of them just matched. She knew that he cared for her in a profound way; he had proven that when he willingly gave his life up for her on her birthday. However, she also believed what he had said at the witness stand. He saw her as his flesh and blood, his sister.

She tried to fit Cormoran into her image of romance. Her image of romance involved chocolates and flowers and holding hands, wondering who would pay for dinner. Being a plus-one at friends’ weddings and introducing him to her aunts and uncles as her boyfriend. The thought of Cormoran as a boyfriend was almost laughable. Boyfriend was such a juvenile phrase.

But there was something more, something bigger, rising inside her like a tidal wave, and Robin knew that if that waved ever crashed it would knock her off her feet and envelope her completely. 

He was blushing furiously, unable to meet her eye.

Why was he so good to her? Why did he do these things? Why to her,  _ her _ of all people?

“Shall we have dinner, then?” Ilsa said. Both Cormoran and Robin stood up at once, eager for any change in subject.

 

 

For dinner they ate clam chowder out of bread bowls, and Robin felt herself warming and relaxing from the inside out. The awkwardness of before melted off with conversation and food. She liked watching Cormoran with Nick and Ilsa. Cormoran wore a lot of masks, and Robin had seen most of them throughout the duration of their partnership. Cormoran the gentleman, Cormoran the flirt, Cormoran the thug. He had an identity for every situation. When he was with Nick and Ilsa, though, he sank back into somebody new, somebody soft and relaxed. His voice was softer and his laughter more genuine. When he was with them Robin could imagine what he was like as a child. 

Nick and Ilsa spent dinner regaling Robin with tales from their shared past and reminiscing about their various misadventures with Cormoran. Cormoran liked this. He liked thinking about times before Charlotte, before Whitaker, before his amputation. Somehow Robin fit in with the group so well that Cormoran had to remind himself that she hadn’t always been there with them.

 

After dinner they moved onto the sofa with a bottle of wine and a plate of biscuits, and watched the fire emit rainbow sparks. Ilsa leaned back with a sigh.

“Congratulations, you two,” she said, biting the head off a gingerbread man, “That trial was a hell of a grind, but we did it.”

“We should make a toast,” Cormoran said, slightly tipsy, “A toast to a case closed.”

“Good idea,” Ilsa said, filling her wine glass up with tea from the teapot, “A toast!”

“You toast with tea now?” Cormoran said, “What are you, Mormon all of a sudden?”

Ilsa smiled slyly.

“Not Mormon, no…” She turned to Robin. “You want me to top off your wine?”

Cormoran had set his glass down and was staring at Ilsa with his mouth hanging open.

“Ilsa. Are you…”

Ilsa grinned and looked down.

“I am. For now, at least.” Her smile flickered. “Fourth time’s a charm, right?”

“How far along are you?” 

“Four months.”

“Four months! Jesus, you kept that quiet! That’s the farthest along you’ve ever been!”

“We didn’t want to get your hopes up,” she said, “We’re, well, we’re really scared.”

“Nobody else knows,” Nick said, “We didn’t want to jinx it. But so far it’s looking fine. And most miscarriages occur before the first thirteen weeks, so we've passed the danger zone.”

“Jesus,” Cormoran said, “You’re gonna have- you’re gonna be-”

“Maybe,” Ilsa said, “Maybe.”

“You will,” he said. “This one is going to go through. I know it is. It is.” He raised his glass. “A toast to this baby. The one baby I already know I will like.” 

They raised their glasses.

Robin clinked her glass and thought about Matthew, on a cold bus ride to Belmarsh Prison. Pregnancy was how it all started, after all. Charlotte faked her own pregnancy, causing Cormoran to end the relationship. Matthew thought that Robin was pregnant, causing him to go on an overprotective rampage. Matthew had just wanted some version of the scene playing out in front of Robin: warmth and love and excitement, tears of joy and congratulations, a hand on the stomach and hope for the future. Now, because Matthew’s actions, Colleen would spend Christmas in a women’s shelter, Cormoran would spend Christmas in a cast, and Robin would spend Christmas far from her family. Charlotte and Matthew would both spend the next ten Christmases in damp prison blocks. Robin felt a sudden flash of animosity towards the entire concept of childbirth. 

“I’m gonna be a dad, Oggy,” Nick said, emotion squeaking in his throat, “I’m gonna be a dad.”

Cormoran bit his lip and he blinked hard. He clasped his arm around Nick’s shoulder.

“Congratulations, brother,” he said.

Robin turned to Ilsa and raised her glass again.

“To new life,” she said.


	70. FINALLY! YASSS!!

 

“So the Christmas traditions… that's okay?” Cormoran asked as they walked to the station from Nick and Ilsa’s.

“Well, of course I would have preferred if you had gone to me directly instead of sneaking around with my family…” Robin smiled. “But it means a lot.”

“Alright. No more sneaking around.” He sighed. Straightforward communication had never been his strong suit.

“So what else did you have planned?” Robin asked.

“I was thinking about getting a tree for the office. A little one. And then, if you wanted, Lucy and her family always goes to a seven o’clock Christmas Eve service at a church near their house. I’ve never been, but she likes it. Hymns, the story, nothing too crazy.” He tapped his fingers nervously against his crutches. I don't want you to feel pressured to be with me and my friends and family all the time, though, if you want to do your own thing, or...”

“I would love to go to church with you, Cormoran.”

“Okay.”

“When are you getting the tree?”

“I don't know. Tomorrow, probably.”

“I'll meet you and the tree at the office at six tomorrow evening. We can decorate the tree and then get dinner. There's a new Thai place I want to try.”

  


When Robin came in the next evening, Cormoran was tangled up in Christmas lights. He shot her a baleful glance.

“There’s too many lights and not enough tree,” he said.

The tree was tiny, barely three feet tall, but it was green and sweet-smelling and still damp from the lot.

“Just throw them over it, it doesn’t matter,” Robin said, “Lights are so beautiful, even in a massive clump.” She had brought her own small box of decorations from the apartment. Most of the decorations had belonged to Matthew, flashy, gaudy things with no significance, but Robin had gone through and picked out the ones that she had bought for herself. She was glad that the tree was small, so the amount of ornaments wouldn’t look too pathetic. She sat down and started carefully unwrapping them and putting them on the branches.

Cormoran stared into space and didn’t speak much. She handed him decorations and he placed them on the tree robotically, distracted. Tension read throughout his body, and his face looked like a mask of worry.

“You’re quiet today,” she remarked. Cormoran looked up at her like he had forgotten where he was.

“Mm? Oh. Just tired I guess.”

Robin raised her eyebrows but ignored it. She hated when Cormoran got this way, withdrawn and distant, unwilling to talk to her. She felt shut out. Of course she always retaliated, sinking into passive aggression and one-word responses.

Cormoran suddenly stood and walked out of the room. Robin rolled her eyes but brushed it off. He came back into the room again, paused, ran his hands over his face, then disappeared again. This time Robin turned around.

“Cormoran? Is everything alright?”

He didn’t answer, but the faint sound of music came wafting out of his office. Violins, a trumpet.

 _“_ _I used to have a perfect sweetheart_

_Not a real one, just a dream_

_A wonderful vision of us as a team…”_

The song was familiar to Robin, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“Cormoran?”

Cormoran appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat.

“Hey, um, Robin?” Cormoran was clenching and releasing his hands on his crutches. Robin couldn’t remember ever seeing him quite so uncomfortable.

“Yeah?”

“Will you… Would you…” He scratched his hair. “Do you want to… Maybe… Dance? With me?”

 _“_ _Can you imagine how I feel now_

_Love is real now, it's ideal…”_

“What?” Robin asked.

“Ah, Jesus.” He looked up at the ceiling, then back down. “Do you remember how in the hotel room, all those months ago, when you were drunk, you said that there’s two characters, who orbit around each other and never connect because they’re too fucked up and broken and lonely, even though they’re- well- you said, even though they’re made for each other and meant to be together?”

“I remember.”

_“You're just what I wanted_

_And now it's nice to live...”_

“And then they dance, and that connection and- and that closeness, I guess, or something, that’s what it takes, and they realize it and they bridge that gap and are together. And you, well, then you asked me to dance. With you. To this song.”

“I remember that too.”

His wiped sweat off his upper lip.

“And I was a fucking idiot and said no. And now I’m more of an idiot because I’m quoting you when you were drunk, and that’s not very fair. I mean we say a lot of things when we’re drunk that we don’t mean.”

_“I know why I've waited_

_Know why I've been blue...”_

Robin just kept staring up at him with her clear fishbowl eyes. He wished she would look away. He wished he had never done this stupid thing. He wished he was dead.

“But I’m saying that I shouldn’t have said no,” he said, “Or at least, now, I’d like to say yes. I’d like to… do that.”

Robin was smiling.

“You want to dance with me, Mister Strike?” she said.

_“Prayed each night for someone_

_Exactly like you…”_

“I want to do whatever it takes. To break our orbit. And to- and to be with you.” He rubbed his nose. “Whatever it takes,” he repeated.

Robin stood and reached for his hand.

“Let’s dance, then,” she said.

_“Why should we spend money_

_On a show or two...”_

“Really?” he asked.

Robin’s ear were ringing.

“Yeah.”

_“No one does those love scenes_

_Exactly like you…”_

He pulled her closer, putting his right hand on her waist while still leaning heavily on his crutch for support. He twined his fingers with hers and started swaying back and forth in something that could possibly be considered rhythm. Robin took a deep shaking breath. He smelled like smoke and rain and something else, something natural and real and warm, and she wanted to breathe him in forever. He wobbled a bit, listing over to one side, and Robin held him steady. She giggled.

“I feel like I’m about thirteen,” Cormoran said.

“In movies this is much more smooth,” she said, still giggling.

“Do I spin you or something? I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Robin rested her forehead on his and grinned.

“Me neither,” she said. She squeezed his hand. “But I like it.”

She was just a breath away, her body brushing his as they swayed in place.

_“You make me feel so grand_

_I want to hand the world to you_

_I hope you'll understand…”_

“I mean I really, really don’t know what I’m doing,” he said. His curls spilled over onto her forehead. “I planned on asking you to dance, I practiced, but I was too scared to think about what would happen next.”

“You were scared?”

“I- yes. Jesus, Robin, I want this so bad, I…” He closed his eyes and swallowed. “I’ve never… I don’t know where to start, I don’t know-”

Robin stood on her tiptoes and kissed him gently, just below the left corner of his mouth.

_“Each foolish little scheme I'm schemin'_

_And dream I'm dreamin'...”_

Robin couldn’t remember how to exhale. Her legs felt like they belonged to somebody else. She looked up at Cormoran. He was blinking down at her like he was drunk.

“Is that... okay?” she asked.

Cormoran put both arms around her waist and pulled her in.

 

His mouth was warm and soft and he smelled like smoke and tasted like rain and when she opened her mouth to him he made a noise between a whimper and a moan.

 _“Now I know why mother_ __  
_Taught me to be true…”_  
Robin had never gotten much out of kissing Matthew. She liked it, of course, but it was always just a gateway to whatever came next. This, though, she could do this all damn day. She pressed closer to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. She wanted to be inseparable from him. She wanted to climb under his skin and live there. She wanted to swallow him whole.

 _“She meant me for someone_ _  
_ _Exactly like you…”_

Finally they surface for air, breathing hard. Robin brushed her hair out of her eyes.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. Cormoran chuckled.

“Where do we go from here?” he asked.

“I think… I think from here we go to dinner. How does Thai sound?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it was worth the wait.


	71. Chapter 71

Robin couldn’t sleep. She was anxious. The two AM anxieties were running laps around her skull. Today they were taking the form of Matthew’s easy drawl. _The only fit girl with half a brain._

The evening had been something unfathomable, beyond compare, she couldn’t think of any words to process it. She felt like everything was suddenly in high definition and she couldn’t stay still. They had both been dazed throughout dinner, giggling and staring and unable to believe what had happened. They had acted like teenagers on a first date, talking at the same time and laughing uncontrollably. She was sure everybody at the restaurant had thought that they were drunk. 

“I can’t believe-” 

“Did we really-” 

“What just happened?”

They had kissed goodbye at the station, long and sweet and slow, and Robin had walked away bow-legged.

Now, though, she couldn’t sleep.  What was going to happen? What if this failed? He wanted a very specific kind of woman, Robin had seen the type over and over in his life. That woman was not her. 

 

Cormoran couldn’t sleep. His clock read 2:20. He’d showered and had a beer and tried to focus on his breathing, but he was too wired to sleep. He couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t think of anything but her. What was she doing? Was she happy? Was she embarrassed? Was she regretting it? He got up and poured himself a finger of whiskey. His phone rang and he picked up on the first tone.

“Robin?”

“Hi.”

“You can’t sleep either?”

“No. I’m too scared.”

Cormoran shut his eyes. Here it was. When the dream ended and reality set back in.

“Yeah? What about?”

“Do you remember when you were on pain killers and you said that I was perfection?” she asked.

“Yes. I meant it.”

“Well you’re wrong. I’m not.”

“But you are, though.”

“No. And I can’t be. Nobody can. I’m not some dream woman, I’m not some perfect romance. And one of these days you’re going to realize it. That I’m not incredibly beautiful or interesting, I’m not an especially great communicator, I’m petty and I hold grudges. I don’t like penetrative sex and my tits look like Gollum from the Lord of the Rings. I’m not beautiful like Charlotte or Ciara Porter or Elin or any of the other stunners you’ve been with. I’m an average, emotional, insecure woman. So no, I’m not perfection. I wasn’t then, and I’m not now, and I’m never going to be. And I’m scared that one day you’re going to look over and realize that I’m not this ideal, I’m absolutely average in every way, and you’re going to realize that you got a raw deal.”

“That’s a lot of information to process,” he said, “So give me a minute while I come up with the right words.”

“Take your time,” Robin said, “You know have to respond at all. I’m not saying this to reach for compliments. I’m saying this because I want you to go in with eyes open. I don’t want you to think that I’m anything that I’m not.”

Cormoran leaned back in bed. He let her words sink into him and percolate under his skull. Finally he said,

“First of all, you spent your evening snogging a fat old cripple with a severe smoking problem. I’m not the one with the raw deal. But that’s beside the point. Here’s the point.” 

He sighed, choosing his words with care. 

“When I was young,” he said, “and even when I was older, even up to about a year ago, I would imagine the woman I wanted to be with, and she was nothing like you. Ask anybody who knew me, you’re the last person anybody would expect. Especially me. I either went for somebody deeply fucked up beyond repair, like Charlotte, or somebody chirpy and empty, like Nina Lascelles. I went for two types: I liked girls who made me look like I had my shit together, and I liked girls who could distract me from the fact that I didn’t. A woman like you had no attraction to me.” He played with a bit of thread where his cast was coming unravelled. “I had no interest in a woman like you. A quiet, real, normal woman, with hidden depths and a pony in the countryside; a woman who can kick a grown man’s ass, a woman who’s beautiful and brave and strong…” He didn’t know where words were coming from, but he followed them, one at a time. “A woman who struggles with communication, like me. A woman who’s had a happy childhood but a difficult life. A woman who wants justice, who’s honest, but afraid of what people think. A woman who cares about everything. Who puts birdseed out on the windows so that the pigeons don’t get hungry. I never wanted that woman. She had no appeal to me. But somehow… I don’t know. Somehow that’s the woman I want to spend every day with. Because even when you make me frustrated, or annoyed… God, it’s still…” He wished he’d had more whiskey, it might have loosened his tongue. “It’s still so… Just so  _ good _ .” 

He wanted to show her, to do something, anything, that could make her see herself through is eyes. “It’s so good. It’s the most good I’ve ever had. I don’t know what I did to get it so good.” He was babbling. 

“Jesus,” he said, laughing under his breath, “I don’t think I’ve ever talked so much at one time in my life.”

“Is it strange that I miss you desperately?” Robin asked.

“I miss you too.”

“Can I come over tomorrow and kiss you all day?”

“I think I can make time for that, yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This broke character a bit, I think, as they're both not this good at communicating, but I liked it anyways.


	72. So much kissing, man.

It was a dim, rainy, dreary day. From the street outside Robin saw that the light in Cormoran’s office was on, and her heart jumped so hard that she had to close her eyes and take a deep breath.

 

She opened the door. She heard Cormoran drop his crutches with a clatter in his rush to stand, the heard him curse. She giggled. Then he appeared in the doorway and she wasn’t laughing. He was smiling but his eyes were serious, and he was looking at her like she was the most beautiful thing in the world. She could feel her blood pumping through her fingertips. She sat on the sofa and gestured for him to sit next to her. He sat heavily, and they both laughed at the farting noise the leather made.

Robin ran her hand along his cheek. He had shaved that morning but he was still rough compared to Matthew, who had never been able to grow any facial hair at all. He was different from Matthew, different in every way, and she wanted to investigate every difference. She wanted to find out everything new, she wanted to voyage into the unknown and do everything she had never done before.

She buried her hands in his wiry hair and closed her eyes and then his hands were running up and down her back and his mouth was on hers and there she was, kissing Cormoran Strike.

They didn’t speak for half an hour.

They spent that time learning about each other, observing with touch and sound, what elicited gasps, what made them shiver. They experimented with pressure, learning where to use teeth and nails and where to be gentle.

Cormoran loved how soft she was. He loved the warm strip of skin between her blouse and her skirt. He loved feeling her move against him, her heat and her gravity. He loved her eyelashes on his cheek and her taste and her high desperate noises.

Cormoran knew that they were moving slow, which was unusual for him. He liked sex, he was good at it, and he did it often. He knew that with Robin, though, things would have to be different. He had known this for a long time. Of course there were few things he wanted more than to lay Robin down and ravish her, but he loved this, he loved _her_ , and he was willing to do anything he could to keep her. He just didn’t know what exactly that entailed, or where the boundaries were.

He pulled back and looked at her. He had hidden the way that he felt for her for so long. So long, being unable to look at her the way he wanted to look at her, unable to stare the way he wanted to stare, and now he had all the time in the world to take in her body. She looked edible. He leaned in, trying to see down her shirt.

“Cormoran Blue Strike,” Robin said, beaming like a lighthouse, “Are you checking out my jubblies?”

Cormoran burst out laughing.

“Your _what_?”

“My jubblies. My strawberry creams. My bahama mamas.”

Cormoran rested his forehead on her shoulder and giggled.

“Why yes, I am checking out your bahama mamas,” he said, “They are quite lovely.”

He ran his hands up to either side of her breasts, unsure if he could touch them. She responded by leaning into his touch, filling his hands with her tits. He sucked in his breath. They were heavy, and their warmth radiated through the thin fabric of her blouse. He ran his thumbs over her nipples and she whimpered slightly.

“Is this okay?” he whispered. She pushed closer.

“Yes…” she murmured. He traced slow circles around her nipples and pressed gentle wet kisses along her jaw up to her ear.

“I’ve been trying to process all the things you said last night,” he said between kisses, “And there’s only one thing that still mystifies me.”

“Yes?”

“How the fuck does a tit look like Gollum from the Lord of the Rings?”

Robin pulled back, shy.

“It’s something… He used to say. It was a joke.”

“What a wanker.”

“I got back at him by calling his cock Margaret Thatcher.”

“Jesus, that would do it,” Cormoran said, laughing, “Good for you.”

Robin smiled a bit, but still sighed nervously.

“They’re just very white, and veiny, with random hairs, and my nipples are also very pale so they sort of blend in… It’s just very weird looking.”

Cormoran looked at her with an expression of timid longing and curiosity, like a kid at a candy shop. She wondered if he’d heard a word she’d said.

“Can I… Can I see them?” he asked.

Robin bit her lip, then nodded. First she stood and walked to the window and closed the blinds, plunging the already dim room into near darkness, the only light coming from his office. Then she sat and slowly undid each button on her blouse, revealing one inch of skin at a time. Cormoran swallowed. He’d forgotten to blink and suddenly his eyes were very dry. Finally she shrugged the shirt off her shoulders. Her white skin was outlined in orange from the light coming from the other room.

She glanced up at Cormoran for reassurance. He was looking at her like he was stoned. He reached forward and slowly ran his hands up her arms to her back and undid her bra, then slid it down her shoulders and onto her lap. He held her gaze for a moment, then looked down.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed.

“Is that- is that good or bad?” Robin asked.

“Oh, fuck, yes, you’re- Jesus, you’re perfect.”

Robin’s hands were shaking and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.

“I feel like a teenager,” Cormoran said, laughing slightly.

“I know. I don’t know what to do next.”

“Well, I have some ideas,” he said. He cupped her jaw and kissed her, long and slow. She kissed him back, getting up on her knees and wrapping her arms around his neck, opening her mouth, wet and hot and hungry. He reached up and cupped her breast, running his thumb over a hard nipple, making her gasp into his mouth.

She swung over so that she was in his lap, feeling him hard under her. She felt like all her blood had been replaced with champagne, fizzing and sparkling in her veins.

Cormoran bent down and kissed her shoulder, then bit her gently. Robin threw her head back as he worked his way down her chest to her nipple.

“Fuck, Cormoran….”

He darted his tongue over her nipple and she whimpered and writhed and dug her nails into his back. She ground down on him, making him groan.

Then he paused and pulled back. Robin pouted in disappointment.

“Listen, I think we should…” He was panting heavily. “I think we should cover how fast we’re going to take this, and… You said you don’t like penetrative sex…”

Robin sighed.

“It’s not that it’s actively bad. I mean, I’ll do it, it’s just not as good as other things. I prefer giving blowjobs.”

Cormoran raised his eyebrows.

“First time I’ve ever heard _that_ before,” he said. He brushed the hair out of her eyes. “Listen,” he said, “Right now I don’t want to do anything that doesn’t actively bring you pleasure. Alright?”

Robin was shocked and embarrassed to find tears springing to her eyes. She blinked them away. Cormoran kissed her face gently.

“Come on,” he said, “Let’s order a pizza.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I have said before, smut is not my strong suit. But we're gonna figure this out.


	73. Talking about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy fluffy fluffy

“So does this qualify as a date?” Robin asked around a mouthful of pizza. Cormoran considered the question.

“No. I think of dates as being more stuffy and uncomfortable,” he said.

“Right. Small-talk and such. This is just… two adults who are mutually romantically inclined, sharing a meal.”

“That’s a mouthful.”

“Just you wait,” Robin said with a wink. She took pride in the fact that she could make Cormoran blush. 

“You are evil, Robin Ellacott,” he said with a smile.

“I try.” She reached for another slice of pizza. “I’m not very experienced,” she admitted, “I’ve never had sex with anybody but Matthew. I’ve never even kissed anybody but Matthew. And you, now.”

“You were with Matthew for, what, ten years? That’s ten years of almost daily kissing. That’s more than me.”

Robin liked thinking about it this way.

“What was your first kiss?” she asked. Cormoran hesitated. In his experience, it was always bad form to bring up past women during the early stages of a relationship. But this was Robin, who broke nearly every rule in the book.

“Her name was Mandy Sathenge,” he said.

“Pretty name. African?”

“Yes, South African. We lived in the same building and went to the same school.”

“How old were you?”

“Twelve. The size of a fifteen-year old.”

“Sounds rough.”

“Being twelve is always rough. Most of the guys in my class were already bragging about how many girls they’d snogged, and how good they were at it. Of course I was terrified that when it came time for me to kiss a girl I actually liked I would be awful at it and she would laugh at me.” Robin giggled. She loved the image of awkward teenaged Cormoran. “Me and Mandy were both the first people on the bus route,” he went on, “So we decided that for the fifteen minutes that it was just the two of us on the bus, we would practice kissing each other, no strings attached.”

“How’d that work out?”

“Quite well. We never spoke, outside of that fifteen minutes.”

“I wish I’d known you then.”

“You were two years old. I doubt there would have been any chemistry.” He looked up at her. “What about your first kiss?” he asked. Robin turned red at the memory.

“It was with Matthew. We were at school. His friends asked us if we had kissed yet, and he said no, and they started making fun of him for it, saying he didn’t have the nerve. So he kissed me.”

“Romantic,” Cormoran snorted.

“Classic Matthew.” She picked at her pizza crust. “How many women have you been with? Not that it matters, I'm just... I'm just curious."

"I don't keep a list. Probably around twelve."

Robin considered this, then decided it was not too intimidating of a number.

"When did you lose your virginity?” Cormoran asked.

"Nineteen. You?"

“Sixteen.”

“Who to?”

“A girl from Cornwall name Suzy. Summer romance. I was leaving for London the next day. We did it on a blanket on the beach. I cried. It was beautiful.”

Robin smiled.

“I love learning about you,” she said, “I want to know everything there is to know about you.” She searched her mind for the words to express this feeling. “If you were a book I would read to the index and the acknowledgements at the end. I would read your publishing information.”

Cormoran sat back. The weight of this statement settled in his chest.

“Sharing is not my strong suit,” he said, “But for you…” He looked her seriously in the eye. “For you I’m an open book.”


	74. Church

 

Lucy picked Cormoran and Robin up at the train station and they all drove to the church together in her minivan. Robin entertained Lucy’s boys by popping out her false front teeth and making monstrous faces as they shrieked with glee. Cormoran was amazed at Robin’s ease and openness with the false teeth. He had always tried to keep his physical flaws hidden at all cost, even when it caused him enormous pain. And yet here was Robin, showing off her missing pieces to entertain children. She caught his eye and waggled her tongue out through the gap in her front teeth.

The church was small and old, but beautiful with white-washed walls and dark pews. It was decked out with candles and evergreen boughs. An elderly parishioner gave them programs and unlit candles and wished them “the merriest of Christmases”. In front of the church sanctuary was a large nativity set, carved out of what looked like driftwood. The wooden characters were unpainted and roughly carved, but they were beautiful and Robin couldn’t look away. The figures weren’t perfect and holy looking. Their postures were tired. Mary was leaning on Joseph, and the shepherds had their arms wrapped around each other. They were linked together in exhaustion and wonderment, staring down at the new baby.

The service started with music, Joy to the World and Ding Dong Merrily on High. Announcements were made, and the congregation read a prayer from the bulletin. Robin had never been particularly religious, and usually avoided the thought of God altogether, but she had attended enough services as a child to feel comfortable in a church. Her family went to Saint Mary’s Church every Christmas and Easter, and she and her brothers had attended summer camp there as children. This church was different, less formal and tradition-based, but she liked it anyways. The music, the prayers, the familiar smell that somehow was the same in every church she’d ever been to. It felt like home.

The pastor got up and began to speak. He told the familiar story, the angels, the shepherds, the wise men. Robin had heard the story twenty-seven times, twenty-seven Christmases, and she let the familiar words wash over her again. But this time the pastor went on. He described a corrupt, violent leader who was willing to massacre all a village’s babies in order to maintain power. He talked about a pregnant teenager in a harsh patriarchy. He told of a group of outcasts, out watching sheep, a thankless task, in order to feed their families. He spoke of people lost, people exiled, violence and murder and treason. And in the middle of all that darkness, there was a taste of something beautiful, a flickering beam of hope.

Robin stared at the wooden sculpture of Mary, looking beatifically down at the baby Jesus, and wanted to ask “ _Is this a tiny piece of how it felt?_ ” Finding a sliver of wonder in the middle of a hurting planet? Robin felt off-balance, staring at a new version of the world, a world where good things were possible, where life wasn’t something you just had to get through, but something that could be joyful, something lovely.

Cormoran was part of this new perspective, but it was bigger than that. Ever since she was raped, Robin had been mired in the safe drudgery of the day-to-day. She had lived life according to the rules, in the hopes that the bad things in the world might ignore her. Like if she blended in and didn’t try too hard to be happy, maybe she wouldn’t be a target. Her only hope had been to stay as safe as she could possibly be. When Matthew and Charlotte had attacked it had only increased this feeling. The one thing she had held as safe was pulled out from under her, and she was left adrift.

Now, though, hope had a whole new meaning. The realm of possibility had expanded. Things were shit, and would probably be shit more in the future. But here she was: she was a private investigator, she had amazing friends and family, she was dancing and fighting, and, of all the bizarre things in life, Cormoran Strike wanted to be with her. If those things could happen, what wasn’t possible?

The church began singing Silent Night, passing around candles until the whole room glowed. She felt Cormoran’s arm slide around her waist.

“Thank you,” he whispered. Robin glanced up at him.

“What for?”

“Everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, some real talk: part of what drew me to the Cormoran Strike novels in the first place was that my story is very very similar to that of Robin's. At least as far as the characters and relationships go. So a large part of her interactions with Matthew and Cormoran (and Coco and others) are based off of real conversations from my life. I was not married, there was no attempted murder, and I am not a PI. But, you know. The other stuff.  
> Anyways, I wanted to add this in, just to stay true to my own experience. I know Robin's not necessarily a Christian so I didn't want it to get too preachy, but oops, it went there. Anyways, my point is less about believing in Jesus and more about reminding y'all that wonderful things do, in fact happen.  
> And then shitty things happen again.  
> But then the wonderful comes back.


	75. The jump

 

Robin met Cormoran at Hyde Park on Christmas morning with coffee and croissants. They walked among the trees, bundled against the chill. They were mostly quiet, only talking when a thought came to them, relaxed in each other’s company. Cormoran was so focused on Robin he barely noticed where they were going until they were nearly at the Serpentine Lido. There was a small crowd of people in bathing suits on the piers.

“So…” Robin said, looking about guiltily, “I know you’ve been working hard on bringing me my Christmas traditions, and I thought maybe I would return the favor.”

“What?”

“Oggy!” came a shout from the pier. Nick and Ilsa were standing at the edge in their bathing suits. “Join us, Oggy, the water looks lovely!”

Cormoran turned to Robin.

“Oh no,” he said, “Oh no, I’m not.”

“I won’t force you,” Robin said with a grin, shrugging off her coat. “But it is tradition.”

“I don’t have any trunks.”

“More fun for me,” she said with a wink. “I brought a bag for your cast, if you want to join us.” Then, without a second glance, Robin unzipped her jeans and stepped out of them. Cormoran wondered if it was possible for his eyes to actually pop out of his skull. She had a red swimsuit on under her clothes, and it glowed against the dreary London fog. 

“Come on, Corm, join us,” Ilsa shouted. Cormoran could see the curve of her pregnant belly in her skin-tight blue one-piece. 

He looked at Robin. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she hopped up and down a bit in the cold. 

“You don’t have to,” she said, but her eyes were full of hope and adventure, and Cormoran rolled his eyes.

“Give me that fucking bag, then,” he said with a grin, “But I’m keeping the trousers on.” Robin pouted but agreed. 

Cormoran sat on a park bench and managed to secure a large plastic bag around his cast before crutching his way over to the pier where Nick and Ilsa were standing. He took off his coat and shirt and folded them neatly to one side. It was cold, so cold, and the breeze felt like sandpaper on his skin.

He felt Robin’s eyes on him and was suddenly aware of just how hairy he was. He could practically feel his hair sprouting of of his stomach and back, like moss. He looked down at his one foot, embarrassed. Even his foot was covered in hair. He was a werewolf, a hobbit, something awful. He had made a terrible mistake. With everything, all of it.

Robin’s two red-toed feet appeared on either side of his, and he felt her hands on his shoulders. He darted a glace up at her. Her eyes were dark and intent, and she slid her hands down to his chest.

“Hey there, Bear Man,” she said with a serious smile.

“If I’m a bear, does that make you Goldilocks?” he asked.

“Breaking into your house and eating your food? I can see that.”

“Goldilocks was really just in there following a lead.”

Cormoran caught Nick’s eye. Nick raised his eyebrows in a question, and Cormoran grinned and gave a half shrug. Nick did a victory punch in the air. 

A man with a loud speaker on another pier started counting down the seconds before the jump, so Robin took Cormoran’s hand and they stood at the edge of the pier together, next to Nick and Ilsa.

“3… 2… 1… JUMP!”

They jumped.

 

The water was so cold it knocked the air out of Cormoran’s lungs and he came up gasping. Robin had gone in screaming and was laughing, brushing sheets of wet hair from her face, water clinging to her eyelashes and streaming off her chin. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, her warmth a shocking contrast to the freezing water around them. Cormoran wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his forehead on hers. She tried to hold his gaze, going slightly cross-eyed.

“Robin Ellacott,” he said, “You make me the happiest man on the planet.”

“Cormoran Strike,” she replied, “That is the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said.”

“I know, I didn’t think I had it in me. There’s just no cynical way to say it.”

She leaned in and kissed him again.

“Merry Christmas, Cormoran.”

“Merry Christmas… Sandra.”

Robin pushed him back under the water.

  
  



	76. THERE IS SEX HERE

Robin followed Cormoran up to his flat, where he excused himself to shower. When he got out of the shower in, Robin was lying on his bed, reading his copy of Blood on the Moon. She had changed into a pair of his shorts and a large T-shirt, and he had to admit that the sight of her in his clothing stirred him at a deeply primal level. He laid down behind her and kissed her shoulder.

“Hey, you,” Cormoran said. Robin flipped to face him. Her hair had dried coarse and wavy, and tangled around his fingers.

“I like your bed,” she said. 

“I like you in my bed,” he replied. Robin hummed and kissed him, sweet and hard and slow. He smelled clean and warm, like his shampoo. Both of them were finding it hard to catch their breath. She bit gently on his lip and he groaned. She could feel his cock pushing against her stomach, and she threw her leg over his waist to get closer access. He rolled over on top of her, until he was right there, just a few layers of fabric away, grinding down… Then he pulled back. He rested on his elbows.

“I don’t want to do anything that doesn’t make you feel good, okay?” he said, panting slightly.

“Okay,” Robin said.

“We’re getting to know each other here. I won’t be offended if you tell me you don’t like something.”

“Okay.”

His hand began stroking her hair. “What do you like?” he asked.

Robin considered this.

“I like…” She pursed her lips, thinking. “I’m not entirely sure. I’ve only had really good sex a handful of times.”

“What happened those times?”

“I guess they involved blindfolds, roleplay…” She was blushing to the roots of her hair. “Fingers... while I’m on my back… And… Well,  _ you _ .”

Cormoran’s hand stopped it’s journey over her scalp.

“Me?”

“There was one night,” she said, “The night before you and I went to the prison. Matthew and I were... intimate… and I… I imagined that it was you. And it was good.” She smiled at the memory. “ _ Really _ good.”

“That’s why you were so quiet that morning.”

“I’d hoped you wouldn’t notice.”

“I figured you had a lot on your mind.”

“Oh, I did.” She grinned slyly. “I used that particular fantasy a lot on my own, as well.”

“Is that so?”

“It was  _ very _ effective.”

He moved in to kissed her neck, and she leaned her head back to give him more access. His hand was moving now, his fingers sliding up under her T-shirt to her breast. Robin’s breath thickened.

“And what exactly happened in this fantasy?” he murmured.

“I…” Robin’s voice came out a high squeak as his lips traveled up beneath her ear.

“Hmmm?” He bit gently on her earlobe and she gave a breathy little moan. “What did I do in your nasty imagination?”

“You… You asked if you could undress me.”

“And did you let me?”

He could feel her smile against his cheek.

“I made you beg for it first,” she whispered. Her voice shook through Cormoran like a shot of whiskey. She would be the death of him.

“I would beg on my knees for you, Robin,” he said. Robin lifted her arms over her head, letting him pull off the T-shirt. He ran both hands over her breasts and down to her stomach, then started working her over with his mouth. Her shoulder, her collar-bone, then down to her nipple, playing with it with his tongue until she was pushing her body up into his. 

“And then what happened?” he asked.

“I liked… You hadn’t shaved, and I liked it.” 

Cormoran rubbed his stubbly chin over her breasts, relishing the gasp she made.

“Like this?” he murmured. Robin swallowed and nodded. He scraped her nipple with his teeth, then soothed it with his tongue. “Then what?” he asked.

“Then…” Her fingers splayed and clenched on his shoulders. “Then you went… Further…”

“Robin,” Cormoran said, his fingers sliding under her waistband, “Give me specifics.”

“You fucked me with your tongue,” she said in a rush, “And then with your fingers. And then… Then both.”

Cormoran’s fingers tugged her shorts down to her ankles, where she kicked them onto the floor.

“Is that what you want, Robin?”

She looked down at him with dark, eager eyes and spread her legs.

“Yes,” she said, “Yes it is.”

He put his fingers in his mouth, then slid them gently along her dripping slit. She threw her head back with a gasp. He traced her, back to front, examining her carefully, seeing what made her tense, what made her sigh, what made her give breathy little groans of pleasure. 

Then, with one hand holding hers, he sank his two fingers knuckle-deep inside of her.

Robin gasped. She was unable to make a sound, unable to do anything but stare openmouthed at the ceiling.

“Breathe, baby,” Cormoran said.

Robin exhaled with effort.

“Is this good?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.” Her voice was high and tight. “Just keep going, please. Please.”

His cock twitched at the sound of her begging. He slowly pulled his fingers out, almost all the way, then pushed them in again. Robin whimpered in pleasure. He repeated the motion again, starting a gentle rhythm. Robin’s hands clenched on the sheets. Cormoran bent down, still moving his fingers, and licked a long cool stripe up her soaking slit. Robin moaned high. He played around her clit with his tongue, then moved in and sucked it full into his mouth.

That did it.

It started as a deep groan from the center of her being and rose in pitch and volume until it was almost a scream. She felt like sparks were firing behind her eyelids. She was beyond thought. Her fingers dug into his hair and her thighs clapped around his ears until he was surrounded by her, drowning in her orgasm, her sound and taste and smell.

He licked her orgasm out of her, pushing her to the very end, then letting her fall back onto the bed, limp and boneless.


	77. Chapter 77

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one. But it's something that I think more ladies have to hear. Including myself. I forget this way too much.

Robin noticed vaguely that Cormoran got up to get a drink of water. He handed her a glass, which she drank eagerly.  
“How are you?” Cormoran asked.  
“I’m wonderful,” Robin said, setting the glass on the side-table. “Star-struck. God, I’m ready for a nap.”  
“Do it, if you want,” Cormoran said. Robin raised her eyebrows and looked pointedly down at his erection.  
“What about…” she said.  
“I’ll live,” Cormoran said cheerfully, “You get some rest.”  
“It’s not… uncomfortable?”  
Cormoran sighed. He could imagine Matthew griping and exaggerating if she left him unsatisfied.  
“Listen, Robin,” he said, “You know how most of our job involves catching people in very compromising situations. Sometimes going to strip clubs, or spotting people having sex.”  
“Right.”  
“You think that never turns me on?”  
Robin considered. Of course there had been plenty of times she had been aroused on a stakeout, watching and photographing people in various states of scandal. It was just a part of the job.  
“I suppose, yes. It’s hard not to be, sometimes.”  
“Now if I had to stop and wank off every time I was aroused, I’d make a pretty fucking awful Private Investigator, wouldn’t I.”  
Robin laughed.  
“I guess not. I never really thought about it.”  
“So go take a nap. I’ll make us lunch.”  
Robin touched his face to pull him back.  
“Listen, Cormoran,” she said, “I don’t want to play games, okay?”  
Cormoran looked confused.  
“I mean I want to be straight forward. I want us to say what we mean. I don’t want to be one of those girls who says ‘I’m fine’ when she’s not. I don’t want to be left guessing, and I don’t want to leave you guessing. And I don’t want you saying things just because you think it will make me happy.”  
Cormoran nodded slowly.  
“I like that,” he said.  
“Good. So you’re actually not uncomfortable?”  
He considered this.  
“Maybe it’s like a dull ache, but not... unpleasant.”  
“Matthew always said that it was painful.”  
Cormoran shook his head. His loathing for Matthew Cunliffe grew every day.  
“I know all forms of pain, from chronic soreness to absolute agony,” he said, “And let me tell you, an erection is not painful. If it was, men wouldn’t have sex.”  
Robin laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.  
“Why did I spend so many years with that… that _cunt_.” The word snapped in her mouth, unused to being used. Cormoran grinned. He loved it when she swore.  
“Don’t call him a cunt, now, Robin,” he said. Robin looked over at him, surprised.  
“After all he did, you’re defending him?” she asked.  
“No, I’m defending cunts. I love cunts. They don’t deserve the comparison.”  
“He does lack the key characteristics of warmth, depth, and sensitivity.”  
Cormoran laughed and swept his hand from Robin’s forehead to her cheek.  
“Go nap. I’m going to make a stir-fry.”


	78. Christmas dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm putting off ending this as long as I possibly can. I need to start writing serious stuff that I can submit to places and have published and stuff, but that's scary and you guys are so wonderful, I want to keep writing this until I'm old and shriveled.

  
  


Robin woke up and rolled over in bed. The space beside her was empty, but she could hear somebody moving nearby.

“Matty, babe, that smells wonderful,” she said.

“Good morning,” Cormoran said. Robin sat bolt upright, blushing.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean- I was tired, I-”

“Do you want some stir fry?”

“Okay.” She sat down at the table and Cormoran placed a bowl of broccoli beef in front of her. 

“I once called Charlotte by another woman’s name and she didn’t speak to me for a week,” he said, “Sometimes it just happens.”

Robin nodded and tasted the broccoli beef. At the first bite she sat back and closed her eyes in pleasure. 

“This is incredible,” she said, “Really, you’re perfect in every way. You’re like porn, if porn actually gave women what they wanted.”

“If pornstars were massive hairy brutes.”

“Mm, they are all shaved, aren’t they?” She dug into her stir-fry with a passion that was a compliment in itself. “I like the hair,” she said around a mouthful of beef, “It’s nice. Very soft. Matthew used to shave his whole body, and he would get stubble in the most uncomfortable places.” She paused and looked up, nervous. “I hope I don’t talk about him too much. It’s still pretty raw, and I’ve only ever been with you two men. I might compare you sometimes.”

“I think as long as you’re not using it against me, I’m alright with it,” Cormoran said, “Charlotte would sometimes say things like ‘ _ Jago _ never put work first,’ or ‘ _ Jago  _ had the sexual stamina of a racehorse.’” Robin choked on her broccoli. “As long as you don’t do that, we’re golden.”

“I think I can manage that.” 

 

When they finished eating, Robin stood and placed two boxes, one large and one small, in front of Cormoran.

“Merry Christmas,” she said. 

“Two?” Cormoran asked.

“One is small. Consider it a belated birthday gift.”

The first small packages held a copy of and a yellow book called “Good Poems for Hard Times”.

“This one is a gamble,” Robin said, “It’s not Latin, and it’s not old, and most of it is very silly. But it’s my favorite anthology. I got it when I was twenty and still struggling quite a bit, and I liked it a lot.”

Cormoran nodded soberly. She must have seen the battered copy of Catullus in his room and tried to find the closest thing she knew. The weight of the gesture moved him, and he didn’t entirely know what to say.

“Now go on,” she said, “Open the next one.”

Inside the other package was a new coat. It was beautifully cut, wonderfully warm, and clearly very expensive. He stared up at Robin in surprise.

“Considering that my husband beat your old coat with a sledge hammer, I figured it was time,” Robin said. It was true that Cormoran’s favorite coat was now in an evidence locker, and he’d been making do with his old army parka. 

He tried this one on. It fit perfectly. 

“Thank you, Robin,” he said, “I mean it. These are wonderful. I don’t… Yours is a little risky.”

Robin smiled. 

“I like risky.”

“I mean it’s really fucking bizarre.”

“Even better.”

“It’s downstairs. Once you get a place of your own you can move it in there.”

Intrigued, Robin followed Cormoran downstairs to the office. In the middle of the room was a four-by-five box, clumsily wrapped in Rudolf wrapping paper.

“Cormoran, this is massive! How did you manage to get it up here?” 

“Shanker. It weighs a ton, so you’ll probably need his help getting it downstairs, too.”

Robin tore at the wrapping paper and came face-to-face with a horrible snarling man. She yelped and jumped back, then started laughing. It was a life-sized rubber man, to be used as a kick-boxing dummy. Robin turned to face Cormoran, her eyes bright.

“Oh, Cormoran,” she said, grinning ear-to-ear, “Oh Cormoran, baby, he’s beautiful.”

“You can adjust the height to how you want, and fill the base up with water so he doesn’t fall over.”

Robin threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  
  


Cormoran spent the rest of the afternoon working on chocolate mousse for dinner at Lucy’s that night. Robin went downstairs and skyped her family in the office. She couldn’t help but tear up when she saw them all together, her parents, her brothers, and Stella, with Baby bouncing around in the background. There was a tree up at her home, and snow falling outside. She didn’t tell them about what had happened between her and Cormoran. She didn’t entirely know how to. But she glowed with a confidence and an ease that her family hadn’t seen in a long time, and she knew that they knew.

That night Cormoran and Robin went to Lucy’s house for dinner. The boys were delighted to see Robin again, and begged her to take her teeth out and chase them around the house. Cormoran joined Lucy in the kitchen, where he helped her blanch beans and mash potatoes. 

“You’re getting quite good in the kitchen,” Lucy said. 

“Yes, I know. Who would have thought,” Cormoran replied.

“I’m sure Robin will like that,” she said, casting an side-eye in his direction. Cormoran played innocent.

“I made her lunch today, she seemed to enjoy it.”

“You know who she reminds me of, is Aunt Joan.”

Cormoran thought about this. It made a certain sense. Robin and his aunt were both incredibly caring, too caring for their own good at times, which resulted in a tough fighting nature. 

“I remember one time you woke up with nightmares and Aunt Joan opened all the closet doors and yelled ‘COME AND FIGHT ME, MONSTERS!’” he said. Lucy smiled.

“I was thirteen. Much too old to be frightened of monsters.”

“You were much too young to deal with the things you saw at home.”

Lucy nodded. She rarely talked about the past.

“What I’m saying is, you two work,” she said, “You work better than anybody I could have imagined you with.”

“You don’t think she’s too far out of my league, then?” Cormoran said, the joke stretching around a bigger worry. Lucy looked him over.

“There is no league,” she said, “There’s just puzzle pieces.” Cormoran raised an eyebrow, confused.

“I’m not good at some things,” Lucy explained, “That’s where Greg comes in. He’s not good at some things, that’s where I come in. We fit together well.”

Robin came into the kitchen, laughing and pushing sweaty hair out of her face. She snapped her false teeth back into place. Cormoran looked up at her and felt his puzzle pieces fitting into place.

 


	79. MORE SEXY TIMES

 

They drove back to Cormoran’s flat in relative silence. Robin parked outside and turned to look at him.

“So we covered my various kinks this afternoon,” she said, “What about you, what are you into?”

“I’m into you,” Cormoran said immediately, “Everything about you.”

Robin glowed at this, but it wasn’t what she was looking for.

“No really. What turns you on? Anything weird? Ropes, chains, fluffy animal costumes?”

Cormoran thought about this.

“I’m pretty average in the bedroom. I really like seeing fancy lingerie. I like when you get noisy, or when you swear. I like food, like honey, or whipped cream. I like blindfolds and maybe a scarf around the wrists or something, but no whips or anything like that. I like…” Suddenly he turned a deep shade of red and stopped talking. Robin grinned.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing, I can’t think of anything else.”

“Come on.”

“No, it’s nothing.”

“If you tell me, maybe I’ll let you do it…”

“Alright, I like…” His voice sank to barely more than a hoarse whisper. “I like… being messy. On girls. I like… on their backs… or on…” He was a shade of scarlet Robin had never seen before, and she was thrilled.

“Cormoran Blue Strike,” she asked, “Do you want to cum on my tits?”

Cormoran stared at her.

“Yes or no?” she asked.

“Yes,” he breathed, “Jesus, yes.”

“Well then what are we waiting for?”

 

Robin pressed Cormoran against the wall of the lift, accidentally pushing the buttons for all the floors. She laughed into his mouth and ran her fingernails through his hair. He growled and slid his hands down her back until he was grabbing her ass, pulling her in. One of his crutches fell on the floor. Robin could feel him, hot and throbbing against her stomach, and she reached down and traced his erection with her finger. Finally the lift stopped at Cormoran’s floor, and they tumbled out onto the landing.

Cormoran dropped his keys and swore. Robin leaned against the doorframe and stared at him as he fumbled with the lock. He dropped his crutch again. He felt drunk. Robin started slowly undoing each button on her blouse.

“Jesus, Robin,” Cormoran said, “We’re in public!”

“We wouldn’t be if you’d open the damn door,” she said, grinning.

Finally he threw the door open. He and Robin were on the bed in two steps, and he silently thanked God for how small his flat was.

Then Robin was on top of him again, grinding down on his cock, her forehead on his, nothing but breath between them. His hands were everywhere, her ass, her hair, tugging her blouse down over her shoulders.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Cormoran murmured. Robin made short work of his shirt and pressed her breasts against his hairy chest. She kissed him deep and hard and hungry, flicking her tongue against his, moving together, her hands fumbling with his belt.

And then, barely knowing how it happened, Cormoran found that he was naked, and Robin was sitting back, staring at him. Normally Cormoran didn’t like being stared at, and had spent most of his life trying to blend in and avoid all attention. But Robin was looking at him with a deep wonder, her eyes dark with want, and he found that he wanted to be seen. She took in all of him, all his scars, the thick mat of hair that covered his body, his protruding stomach, the flaking grey cast over his half-leg, she saw all of it, and she loved every inch. She looked him square in the eye.

“You are wonderful, you know that?” she said. Cormoran couldn’t hold her gaze but he couldn’t look away. She leaned down and kissed him, gently on the mouth, then began trailing sweet wet kisses down his chest, over his stomach, and down…

He was big, as she had expected, but not so big as to be overwhelming. She leaned down and pulled a small tube of hand lotion from her trouser pocket. Cormoran raised an eyebrow.

“What’s that- _Oh God_.” She had squeezed a generous handful of lotion into her palm and eased her fist down over his cock.

“I always come prepared,” she said.

“Jesus fuck, just keep going.”

She bit gently on the inside up his thigh, which made him yelp and jerk back. She giggled.

“Sorry.”

She leaned down and slid the flat of her tongue slowly up from the base of his cock to the head. She played her tongue around the tip, then wrapped her lips around him and moved her hands up and down his shaft, following the bobbing motion of her head. She squeezed slightly at his base and increased her pace. He gasped and flexed his fingers, hovering inches from her head. Robin pulled herself off of him.

“You’re allowed to touch me, you know,” she said, “I won’t break.”

That was all it took, and Cormoran’s hands were clenched tight in her hair, guiding her up and down his cock, setting the pace and pressure. She continued working him over with one hand, moving it in corkscrew-motions, while her other hand fondled his balls. He was groaning loudly now, his thrusts getting deeper and more ragged, and Robin pulled back. He whimpered at the loss of her.

“Get up,” she said, “On your knees.”

She reached over for a generous handful of lotion, which she spread on her breasts. Cormoran blinked several times as if he couldn’t believe was he was seeing. Robin wiped her hands on the bed sheets to maintain a better grip, then squeezed her breasts tightly together on either side of Cormoran’s cock. He started moving slowly, testing pace and pressure, but soon he was picking up speed, grunting with each thrust. He put his hands on either side of hers, improving her grip. His face was serious and strained, effort lining his eyes.

He looked down at Robin, her sweet open face smiling up at him softly. Her angelic expression contrasted with the sight of his wet red dick thrusting up between her tits, and the image sent him over the edge. He jerked, swore loudly, and came with a rush over her chest and neck.

“Fuck, Robin.” He swayed over her, and Robin wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his stomach. He ran his hands through her hair, trying to catch his breath.

“Come here, lie back with me, baby,” she said. Cormoran collapsed onto the bed and Robin laid down next to him. She reached into her trouser pocket and pulled out her false teeth, which she popped back in. Cormoran stared at her.

“You had your teeth out that whole time?” he asked. Robin shrugged.

“It simplifies blow jobs.”

Cormoran laughed. He traced slow patterns over her chest.

“This messy enough for you?” Robin asked.

“God, yes.”

“It’s interesting, you’re such a tidy person normally.”

“Yes, well, all’s fair in sex and war.” He turned serious. “How are you?” he asked, “Are you okay?”

“I’m excellent.” She ran her hand over his face. “You are so gorgeous,” she said. Cormoran leaned into her touch.

“I’m charming,” he conceded. Robin wouldn’t have it.

“You are beautiful,” she insisted.

“I’m hairy and fat and old. I don’t care, though, I make do.”

Robin stared at him and wondered when he had last been complimented on his physical appearance.

“I love your hair,” she said, “I love your body. I love your eyes, and the way they wrinkle when you smile. I love your mouth, how your lower lip is bigger than the upper.” She was moving her fingers over each part as she described it. “I love how big you are, how you can envelope me completely. I love your belly.” Cormoran raised his eyebrows. “I do, I really do,” she insisted, “I mean who wants a six-pack when you could have the whole keg, right?”

He snorted.

“I even love your leg,” Robin went on, “Because it’s a part of you. And every part of you is wonderful.” She paused. “Except the smoking. I don’t love that.”


	80. Girl Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a tumblr! Finally! SleepyEye17.

Coco returned on the twenty-sixth, and spent the evening twirling around the office on an office-chair as Robin filed reports. 

“How was your Christmas?” Robin asked.

“Glorious,” Coco said, “I don’t know why I worried so much. I think Lance loves my mums almost more than I do. If they weren’t so gay I might be getting jealous. And they love him too. They’re about ready to send out the wedding invites. ”

“How’s your family?”

“You have all day? There’s ten of us kids, and we’re all at the marrying, baby-making ages. I’ve got four new nieces and nephews since our last reunion, and three new siblings-in-law. One less, too, my brother Kenny got a divorce. Which is a shame, I liked his wife. She played a mean panpipes in our family band.” 

They spent the next half hour cheerfully discussing the various dramas and intrigues of Coco’s massive family, which consisted of two mums, four boys, five girls, one non-binary person, nine grandchildren, and a constant flow of short-term foster babies. All ten adopted children played a different instrument in the family band (Coco played the saxophone moderately well), and they would get together for jam sessions at every reunion. 

“Did your mums adopt you as a baby?” Robin asked.

“Nah, I was ten when I came to them,” Coco said, pulling her knees to her chest. “I was deeply fucked up at the time. I was violent, had eating disorders, would scream at people and cut my wrists. My foster family before was awful, just awful. My mums were wonderful, though. So patient with me. They taught me to express myself through dance.” She brightened. “While I was there I had an idea. I’d like to start an organization that teaches dance to at-risk girls. I don’t think I could do burlesque, of course, too sexual. But hip-hop, or modern dance.”

“That’s a wonderful idea!” Robin said, “You would be so good at that.”

“I have no idea how to start an organization like that, but my mum Joannie has connections and we’re going to see what happens.” She turned to Robin. “Anyways,” she said, “I’ve been doing all the talking. How are you doing?”

Robin considered this question seriously.

“My life is so bizarre,” she said, “It went from complete misery to total joy so fast it makes me dizzy.”

“I like the sound of total joy.”

“It’s good to be back at work, it centers me. We got a new client this morning, which is good. We really need at least three to be financially comfortable, but it’s a start. Cormoran is at the doctor’s getting his cast off right now. I got the flat above the Catholics. Everything is coming up roses.”

“Oh I’m so happy for you,” Coco said, “I’m glad that you can live independently.”

“That’s the other thing,” Robin said, grinning, “I’m… slightly less independent than I was before.”

Coco’s eyes widened and her mouth turned into a delighted O.

“No!” she said, “You and Cormoran?”

“Yes.”

Coco gave a triumphant cackle and spun around on the wheelie chair.

“I knew it!” she shouted, “I fucking knew it! God, how did it happen?”

Robin gave a brief rundown of her drunken night in the hotel room, and then Cormoran’s invitation to dance in the office. Coco asked a steady stream of questions and gasped and laughed and sighed at all the right parts. 

“So we kissed, and that’s that,” Robin finished.

“That’s the end?” Coco asked, “You haven’t done anything since?”

Robin didn’t need to answer, her face gave it all away. Coco cheered.

“Have you seen his penis yet?” she asked.

“Coco! Jesus, what kind of a question is that?”

“A yes-or-no question.”

Robin sighed.

“Yes,” she said primly, “Yes, I have.”

“Is it as big as he is?”

“You mean is it six feet three inches? No.” 

“You know what I mean.”

Robin considered. Robin had never been the gossipy sort, especially not when it came to her own secrets, but she found that she loved talking about it with Coco. Having an open ear, who had been there, who knew what she meant, it was just fun. 

“I’ve only looked closely at one other live penis before, so I don’t know much about comparison. It’s very nice. Nice is the only word I can use to describe it. Not too big, not too small. Matthew was long and skinny, like a screwdriver. Cormoran is just nice all over.”

 

Outside, Cormoran exited the lift and made his way to the office.

“So is he your boyfriend now? Are you dating?” Coco asked.

“He’s my partner. In work, in life, everything. We just go together.”

Cormoran paused outside the door. He didn’t want to intrude, so he began to slowly and quietly ease his way to the stairs.

“Do you love him, then?” Coco asked inside the office. Cormoran froze. He knew he shouldn’t listen, but he didn’t have time to get out of earshot on his crutches and there was nothing he could do short of covering his ears like a child.

“Coco, I have loved that man since the day he crashed into my wedding,” Robin said.


	81. Professionals

Cormoran and Robin sank back into work as usual. The twenty-seventh brought them a second client, another potentially unfaithful wife for them to follow. 

It was raining heavily on the 28th, so Robin took the Land Rover out to tail the woman while Cormoran stayed behind and worked their other case, a caregiver suspected of stealing from an elderly man and selling the items on Ebay. 

Both Robin and Cormoran had worried about the impact that their relationship might have on their work ethic, and, for Robin, these worries had grounding. As she sat in the car, she couldn’t stop thinking about him, his smell, his taste, the warmth of his skin against hers. She followed her target from work to a coffee shop to Zumba class, and tried to tear her mind off of Cormoran. But the more she tried, the more difficult it got. Finally she pulled out her phone.

_ “Can’t stop thinking about you.” _

She pressed send. Cormoran texted her back almost immediately.

_ “Aren’t you supposed to be tailing Zumba Mom?”  _ he asked. Robin frowned.

_ “I am. She’s in her class right now.” _

_ “Don’t get distracted. Keep on her.” _

Robin rolled her eyes.

_ “I am. I can watch her and think about you at the same time.” _

_ “Stay focused.” _

She seethed. She  _ was _ focused. She was sitting outside of a dance studio, waiting for the target to come back out. What exactly did he expect her to be focused on? He was her partner, not her boss, but he still sometimes held an air of superiority, as if she was a child.

 

Back in the office, Cormoran was nervous. His work had been a sore point with every woman he’d ever been with. It had been his mistress in every romantic relationship. He loved his job. It was a part of who he was, and he couldn’t imagine himself doing anything else. And when his relationships inevitably went south, his job was a retreat. He could sink into it, claiming that he had to work longer hours, when in actuality he just had to get away from the wreckage of the relationship. The last time a work relationship had become romantic had been with Tracey Selman, and even in that situation their cases had rarely intersected. With Robin, in such close quarters, with nowhere to escape to, every argument would be unavoidable. 

He sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. The thought of a relationship at work sent cold sweats through him. He had a sudden image of flowers and chocolates on the desk, calling each other “sweetheart” in front of clients, red lipstick kisses on the bottom of documents. He picture sappiness infringing upon his solitary, masculine life like a rising pink wave.

 

By the time Robin came back to the office, she had practiced arguments in her head until Cormoran had morphed from a moderately annoying coworker to a demeaning pig who took her for granted.

“Hello,” Cormoran said, “How’s Zumba Mom?”

“Boring,” Robin said, “She didn’t do anything out of the ordinary.”

“Alright. Let’s give it some more time, anyways.”

Robin hesitated at his desk.

“I’m good at what I do, you know,” she said, suddenly. Cormoran glanced up at her in surprise.

“I know you are,” he said.

“I stay focused.”

“I know you do. What are you getting at?” he asked.

“I can be in a relationship with you and also do my job.”

“Is this about my telling you to focus?”

“Yes. It was demeaning.”

“We have to stay professional, Robin,” he said.

“I am professional. You’re acting like I slapped your ass in front of a client. I can be a professional and still show my appreciation for you.”

Cormoran ran his hands over his eyes.

“You’re right,” he admitted. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I’m just scared, Robin,” he said, “I don’t know how to balance work and romance, I never have. And I certainly don’t know how to combine the two. There’s always been such a distinct line between them in my life. I have my work life, and my love life, and ne’er the twain shall meet. You and me, it isn’t just about a man and a woman, this is about man and a woman and their livelihood and their careers and their friendships. If this goes bad the stakes are much higher.”

“Do you think it’s going to go bad?” Robin asked.

“I hope not, but if you haven’t noticed I don’t have the best track record.”

“Listen, Cormoran, I know it’s not always going to be easy, no relationship is. And there’s a lot at stake. But for me, it’s worth it.” She looked him steadily in the eye. “Is it worth it for you?”

Cormoran looked at her. This was Robin, not Tracey, not Charlotte, not Elin. This was Robin, his partner.

“It is worth everything to me,” he said.


	82. Parties and salmon

Robin had come up with the idea of the party her first day in court. She had looked out at the crowd of people who had come to support her, and had wanted to do something to show her appreciation for them. Later in the week she had shared the idea with Coco, who had taken strongly to the idea. Coco loved event planning. They’d spent a pleasant afternoon planning out the guest list and the setting and the decorations. Coco decided that it should be a New Year’s Eve party, to symbolize new life and such, which Robin had thought was ridiculously cheesy but was willing to go along with it. Then the strain of the trial had hit her, and all thought of the party had escaped to the back of her mind.

Then, on the twenty-ninth, Coco called Robin on a stakeout.

“Hello Coco,” Robin said.

“I just talked to Cormoran,” Coco said, “He says that you hate surprise parties.”

Robin narrowed her eyes.

“Yes, I do. Why?”

“Well do you remember like three months ago, we started talking about a New Year’s Eve Party?”

“Coco…” Robin’s voice held a warning in it. “What did you do?”

“Surprise,” Coco said, weakly. “I hope it’s okay. I went ahead with our idea.”

“You what? How?”

“Well, we came up with the basics that day after the trial. The guests and the theme and so forth, so I knew what you wanted. I guess I just sort of… went with it. I invited everybody to a New Years Eve party in your honor. It was supposed to be a surprise, but I guess you don’t like that.”

“I don’t. How many people are coming?”

“Do you count children people?”

“Yes.”

“Twenty-six have RSVPed.”

“ _ Twenty-six _ ?”

“Well, yes, but three of them are under ten, so they probably won’t be staying until midnight.”

“Where will we fit all those people?”

“The dance studio. It’s big, we’ll decorate it all festive, we’ll have music and a long table with food…”

“Food, God, yeah, how will we feed them all?”

“It’s under control. A lot of people are bringing appetizers and desserts, and Lance is going to make some giant lasagnas.”

Robin wanted to protest more, but she couldn’t think of any good reason to. The magnitude of what Coco had done for her sank over her chest.

“Why are you doing all this?” Robin asked.

“Several reasons,” Coco said, “First of all, you gave me those concert tickets for Christmas and I didn’t get you anything. Secondly, I love planning parties, and I like you. Thirdly, there’s this party planning blog and if you plan a party and submit pictures of it you enter a drawing to win all sorts of cool stuff.”

Robin relaxed slightly with this information.

“Listen Coco, I don’t know what to say,” she said, “This is just above and beyond. I didn’t mean to bite your head off just now. I’m just a little bit in shock.”

“Don’t be. Don’t stress out about it. Just show up at the studio at eight, in your favorite outfit, and we’ll go from there.”

Robin hung up the phone and texted Cormoran.

_ “How did you know I hate surprise parties?” _

_ “I know you. You hate deception. Even for a good cause.” _

She smiled. Before she could respond he texted her again.

_ “Come over for dinner. I’m making salmon.” _

 

Robin came into Cormoran’s flat to find a plate of honey ginger salmon with roasted broccoli waiting for her.

“What did I do to deserve the people in my life?” she mused, sitting. Cormoran grinned.

“Coco told you about the party, then?”

“Yes. How long did you know about it?”

“She mentioned that she was throwing a party about a week ago, and I said that I would be there. But I didn’t know all the details until this morning.”

“Same.” She dug into her dinner. “God, this is amazing,” she said, “You really know your way around a salmon.”

“I remember you once mentioned that you liked salmon.”

“Matthew used to make it for me. I guess it helps improve fertility.”

Cormoran choked.

“What?” he said.

“Yeah, I found the recipe in his search history. Recipes to improve fertility. Salmon and whole grains.” A momentary ghost fluttering behind her eyes. “He wanted that baby to be real so bad.” She shook it off. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, “Where did that come from? I really do love salmon, though. And this is the best salmon I’ve ever had, without a doubt.”

Cormoran grinned.

“I bet you say that to all the boys,” he said.

“No, it’s true. Your talent for cooking is so unexpected. I love it.”

“It’s meditative.” He picked at his dinner, then said, “Did you want it to be real?”

“What?”

“The baby. I mean, did you want one?”

Robin didn’t even have to consider.

“No,” she said, “Not with Matthew.”

“But in general?”

“Are you asking if I want to have children?”

Cormoran shrugged.

“I guess,” he said.

“I’m waiting for the day to start when I start wanting them. But right now the idea seems absolutely terrifying.”

Cormoran hadn’t realized how tense his shoulders were until he felt them relax.

“Kids  _ are _ terrifying, aren’t they,” he said.

“My mum says it’s different when they’re your own,” Robin said, “But it’s not just your own, is it. You have play dates and birthdays and field trips. I’m just not ready for that. And I don’t know if I ever will be.” 

Cormoran stared at her with that look he had, like he was watching a star exploding in the cosmos, or a baby horse learning to walk.

“What’s that face for?” Robin asked.

“I dunno,” he said, “Sometimes I just can’t believe you’re really here.”


	83. The naughtiness continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean really, they've waited this long, might as well do a lot of it.

 

Robin washed the dishes and Cormoran dried. They were mostly quiet, enjoying each other’s presence. 

“Would you like to stay?” Cormoran asked. “Overnight, I mean?” 

Robin looked down, a lock of hair spilling over her smile.

“I would like that,” she said.

“We could watch a movie, if you’d like,” he suggested.

“Or we could just skip to the fun part.”

His arms circled around her and she could feel him hard against her ass. She wiggled closer, making him groan quietly into her hair.

“You little tease,” he murmured.

“Guilty as charged,” she said, “What do you plan on doing about it?”

Cormoran growled and gently pushed her down onto the bed. He climbed on top of her, his elbows on either side of her head.

“I plan on punishing you in the most respectful, consensual way I can,” he said into her ear. Robin giggled. 

“Oh baby, I love when you talk feminist to me,” she said. 

Then his teeth and tongue scraped down the back of her neck and her smile turned to a whimper of pleasure. 

“That spot…” she whispered hoarsely, “Do that again.”

He bit down harder and she writhed under him, her arms turning limp and useless. Cormoran pulled her shirt off over her head and dragged his mouth down the ridge of her spine, listening to the cadence of her breathing as it caught and flowed. At the base of her lower back she jerked and moaned, and he bit down again. She pressed against him greedily as he fumbled with her belt and her zipper, finally tugging off her jeans to discover that she was wearing a pair of purple satin panties.

“Jaysus, Robin,” he muttered, “What are these?”

“You said you liked pretty panties…”

Cormoran responded by biting her left cheek, making her squeal and collapse into giggles.

“Did you just bite my bum?” she asked.

“You look like candy,” he said. He slowly slipped his hands between her thighs. “God, Robin, you’re soaking,” he said.

“I’d be even more so if you weren’t still wearing so goddamn much.”

Cormoran grinned and kissed the small of her back.

“I love it when you swear,” he said.

“Take off your fucking clothes, Cormoran.”

He didn’t need to be told again, and Robin felt him lift off of her. She turned onto her back to watch appreciatively as he stripped down. She loved every bit of him, every inch of skin, every scar, the blood that flowed through his veins. 

“God you’re sexy,” Robin said. Cormoran turned to look at her, spread out on the bed like a meal, and he smiled.

“And you, Miss Ellacott, are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

Robin opened her arms and her lowered himself down onto her, his warm skin pressing against her, his lips on her neck, his legs on either side of hers…

“Better?” he said. She responded by wrapping her legs around his waist and flipping him over onto his back. She grinned down, straddling him. His jaw dropped as his cock came in contact with her, the feel of her on him, against him. She looked him in the eye, a breathless smile on her face. He moved his hips up against her, his cock sliding against her wet folds, and she gasped.

“Baby...” she said, “Baby you won’t all fit inside me.” Cormoran caught an edge of shame in her voice, and she looked down, not meeting his eye. He cupped his hand around her face.

“That’s fine,” Cormoran said, “Like I said before, I don’t want to do anything that doesn’t bring you pleasure.”

Robin looked him dead in the eye, like she was testing a witness.

“You really mean that, don’t you,” she said, in disbelief.

“Robin, I’m pretty sure you could satisfy me sexually without even touching me.” He thought about this. “I’m pretty sure that nearly happened one time.”

Robin laughed, then leaned in and kissed him, hungry, teeth and tongue and open desire, and she started moving up and down against him, so warm, how could one person be so warm? She groped blindly at his bedside table, trying to grab the bottle of lotion that she’d left there the last time she’d been over, knocking several things onto the floor before finding it. She took a generous palmful and rubbed it slowly up and down his throbbing dick before lowering herself on top of him again. He slipped against her smoothly now, and she slid back and forth against him, feeling each ridge of his cock ripple below her. When the head of his cock massaged her clit she threw her head back and whimpered.

“Christ,” Cormoran groaned, “You’re so beautiful, you’re flawless, I…”

She increased her speed, rubbing against him with slick wet sounds, his hands on her hips guiding, her, faster, faster…

“Fuck, Robin, slow down, I’m gonna- FUCK. JESUS.”

He came, shaking, spilling onto his stomach, his face straining. Robin slowed, then stopped, smiling triumphantly. She leaned down, her elbows on either side of his head, and kissed him lightly.

“You really liked that, didn’t you,” she said.

“I like everything with you,” he said, panting. Robin hummed and laid beside him. Cormoran raised his eyebrows. “Are you tired?” he asked.

“No. But you are.”

“Mm, I’m not done with you yet.”


	84. Sexy sexy sexy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy valentine's day! I love you all. Sorry for the wait. I'm going up to Spokane for a week to see my boyfriend (it's been six months, whaaaaat) so I don't know how much writing I'm going to get done.

He cupped her right breast his hand, entranced by the weight of it, the way that it spilled over around his fingers.

“Remembering the day we met?” Robin asked, grinning.

“Hmmm. I’ve thought about that day a lot.”

“Is that so?”

“The memory fueled several lovely dreams.”

“You hid it well.”

“What, that I fancied you?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought I was so obvious. I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.” He leaned in and kissed her shoulder. “I wanted to touch you all the time.” He kissed her collarbone. “I wanted it so bad, Robin.”

Robin raked her fingers through his hair, twisting up into his touch. 

“I’m all yours,” she said, her voice high and breathless. He kissed his way down to her left nipple, which he rolled over his tongue.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I don’t want gentle,” Robin said, “I want to… I want to get fucked.”

Cormoran growled and bit down, just hard enough to make Robin whimper and thrust her hips, wanting more, so much more. He pinched her other nipple between his fingers, toeing the line between pleasure and pain. He pushed Robin’s legs apart roughly, then, without preamble, sank a finger inside of her. Robin cried out and he quickly removed it.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“More...” Robin said, “I want more.”

This desire for rough, wild sex was entirely new for Robin, and quite unexpected. She felt like she had been possessed. With Matthew she had always asked for slower, softer, more romantic, but now, with Cormoran, she wanted to push her boundaries and see what happened. She looked him in the eye and realized that she trusted him, she trusted him with her life, and, most of all, with her comfort. She trusted that he could read her body and respect it like it was his own, and that he would never do anything to hurt her. She trusted that he knew her more than anybody else. 

Then he added another finger and she wasn't thinking anything. 

He moved gently, but deep, feeling her limits, watch her carefully for signs of pleasure or pain. Then, without breaking rhythm, he traced around her clit and flicked it with the pad of his thumb, while sucking hard on her nipple. 

Her fingernails dug into the bed sheets and she jerked back, her mouth open. Her eyes rolled back into her head and everything went dark. It felt like every muscle in her body was contracting. Her back arched into him and she cried out with a volume that surprised both of them. 

Cormoran pulled it out of her, summoning her orgasm in waves, until robin gasped “I'm done! I'm done! Okay!”

She fell back on the bed, unable to form words or thoughts. Cormoran wiped his fingers on the sheets and pulled her into his arms. She curled her fist against his chest and breathed him in. 

“Hey, you,” he rumbled. Robin blinked up at him. 

“Hey,” she whispered.

“How are you?”

“I’m…” She considered this. “I’m so...  _ comfortable _ .”

Robin had always been a modest girl. Even when she was home alone, she didn’t go around in her underwear. Ever since she was fourteen and went from an A cup to a full C (seemingly overnight), Robin had stayed covered as much as possible. She had undressed for Matthew, of course, whenever they had sex, but she would put on a dressing gown or get under the covers almost as soon as it was over. Now, though, lying with Cormoran, she felt warm and relaxed, more natural and confident than she ever had. She wanted to do everything naked. She wanted to become a nudist in a colony of two. 

She smiled and stretched, like a cat in the sun.

“You still wanna watch a movie?” she asked.

“You have anything in mind?”

“Have you ever seen Rear Window?”


	85. Overnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK, BABY! Spokane was beautiful and cold. I learned so much about the power of communication on this trip. If y'all have a problem I really encourage you to talk it out. I was up all night like "Ugggghhhhh talking is awful" but we grew stronger because of it. Still got some things to deal with, but we're getting there. I think that's the power of writing, is that it makes me realize the strengths and weaknesses of the characters and I'm like "Ah shit, that's totally me," or "YUS I'M JUST LIKE THAT".  
> I appreciate you guys and all your love and concern. It really means a lot.

 

The credits rolled. Robin had spent more time looking at Cormoran than she had spent looking at the screen. He had watched raptly from the opening scene. Now he turned and looked at her.

“That was some movie,” he said, “I forgot how good it was.”

“I watched it as a child. It had a formative impact.”

“Is that where you got your penchant for one legged men?”

“Hmm yes, it was predestined.” She leaned back against him and ran her hand over his thick chest hair.

“When did this start for you?” she asked.

“My interest in you?”

“Yes.”

“Mm.” He considered this. “It was a slow build, I suppose. Or maybe not. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“I know how you mean. It was a progression.”

“I’ve always found you to be a remarkably beautiful woman.”

Robin grinned.

“Really?”

“Is that a surprise?”

“Sort of, yes. I’m not exactly your standard type.”

“That’s true. You’re better.” 

Robin tried to roll her eyes at this line, but she was too pleased. 

“You’re radiant,” Cormoran went on, “You’re not just beautiful, you make everything else around you beautiful.”

Robin blushed and looked down, at a loss for words. He was a quiet man, but he had a way with words Cormoran ran his fingers down the side of her face. She shifted up to kiss him.

The moment was ruined when Robin let out an enormous fart, the kind that shook the bed beneath them.

Cormoran burst out laughing. Robin covered her face with her hands.

“Oh God, Cormoran, I’m sorry,” she said.

“No, no, if anything I'm impressed. That was top-tier flatulence. I think you caused a tectonic shift.”

“I'm so embarrassed.”

“Your timing was impeccable.”

“Noooo.”

Cormoran took her face in his hands.

“Tua quasi ventositatis extollere perfectus est,” he murmured. 

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“Your farts are perfection.”

Robin beamed.

“That is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me.” 

“A university major in Latin will do that to you.”

“I mean it.” She rested her forehead against his. "I really do."

 

They laid back in bed and talked and stared at the dark ceiling, Robin running her fingernails over Cormoran’s scalp until they both fell asleep.

 

“WATER!”

Cormoran woke up with a start to see Robin sitting bolt upright in bed, panting, her hair in every direction. 

“Robin.”

She turned and looked at him, eyes wild.

“Hey,” he murmured, “You had a bad dream. That’s all.”

She blinked, some of the fear draining from her face.

“Come here,” he said, touching her shoulder, “Hey, there, yeah, you’re alright.” Robin sighed and sank into him, her breathing slowly easing. Cormoran wrapped her arms around her and she rested her head on his chest.

“Dreamed… You were on fire…” Robin mumbled.

“I’m right here. I’m safe. So are you.”

“I don't…” The words came out as half a sigh as she drifted back to sleep. “I don't want… to be without you…” She closed her eyes. “Not ever.”

He studied her as she slept. She looked like a child in her sleep, her mouth in a pout, her hand clenched under her chin. Her forehead was creased into a frown. Cormoran reached down and smoothed it with his thumb. She sighed and nestled closer to him.  She had a tiny dark birthmark on her forehead, covered almost completely by her hair. Mascara had smudged across the bridge of her nose. 

“Me neither,” he said.


	86. The Settlement

Robin was in the office when the phone rang. 

“Ellacott speaking.”

“You are being called by an inmate at Belmarsh Penitentiary,” a cool female voice said, “To accept this call, press one.”

Robin closed her eyes and took a deep breath, smelling the comforting scent of Cormoran’s shampoo on her hair, then hit one.

“Matthew?” she said.

“Robin… I didn’t think you’d pick up.” Matthew’s voice sounded tinny through the prison phone.

“I need to get the divorce finalized, don’t I?” Robin said.

“Do you remember what day it is today?”

“Friday?”

“It’s January 30th. The anniversary of our first date.”

“I suppose so.”

The door opened and Cormoran stumped in. He took one look at Robin’s face and made to leave, giving her privacy, but Robin gestured that it was alright for him to come in.

“I’ve went to group therapy yesterday,” Matthew was saying, “I think it will be good for me.” Robin didn’t say anything. “I’m realizing that what I did was wrong,” he went on, “I hurt you. I didn’t mean to, but I did. And I take responsibility for that.”

“You’re just now realizing that murder is wrong?”

“I’m realizing that love, real love, it’s all about letting go.”

“That’s original.”

Robin hadn’t realized how tense she was until she felt Cormoran press a thumb between her shoulder blades and she relaxed with a sigh.

“Have you spoken with your lawyer about my demands?” she asked.

“Yes. We’ve decided that it’s in my best interests to give you everything you asked for.”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up.

“Everything?”

“Down to the last pillow cover. My lawyer says that when my hearing comes up, it will look better if there’s tangible evidence of remorse.”

“How touching.”

“That’s not why I’m doing it, though.”

“I don’t much care why you’re doing it.”

“I love you, Robin. I vowed to take care of you on our wedding day, and I am going to stick to that vow.”

“Listen, Matthew,” Robin’s voice was shaking. “Those wedding vows became worth a pile of shit the minute you started conspiring with Charlotte. I don’t need you to take care of me. I don’t need  _ anybody _ to take care of me.”

She could feel Matthew’s smirk in his voice.

“Keep telling yourself that, Robsy Bobsy. Without me you’d still be stuck in Masham, living in Mummy’s basement.”

“You’re right,” Robin said, “You’ve done me a great favor. Without you I never would have come to London. I never would have gotten a job. And if you hadn’t tried to kill my boss I would still be with you, trapped in an unhappy marriage for the rest of my life. Instead I’m here, doing what I love, with a man I adore, who values me for what I am and who I want to spend my life with. So thank you, Matthew, you were a real pal.”

She hung up.

“I miss landlines,” she said, leaning into Cormoran’s touch, “You could really hang up on somebody with those. Slam that shit down. Pressing a button isn’t nearly as satisfying.”

“So he gave you everything?”

“Yes. I didn’t ask for much. I asked for half of everything that we bought with our joint account. Even that’s a stretch, as he put twice as much into that account as I did. I wasn’t expecting him to go along with it.” She looked around the office. “I don’t know what I’ll do with a full dining room set. I guess I’ll sell it.”

Cormoran sat down heavily at his desk. He took the pencils out of their jar and put them back in again.

“So you, ah, want to spend your life with me?” he said lightly, not making eye contact. Robin flushed.

“I may have been a bit dramatic there,” she said, “Trying to twist the knife.” 

Cormoran nodded slowly. He hadn’t been expecting the lurch of disappointment in his stomach, but there it was.

“Alright,” he said. 

“But, Cormoran,” she said. He looked up at her nervously. “I don’t… I don’t plan on going anywhere."


	87. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why this chapter took me so long. Writer's block has been real. Plus it's much easier for me to write drama and angst than happy things. Weird. So it's here. Cheesy, rambling, full of love. Like myself.

Robin and Cormoran spent most of New Years Eve disguised as homeless people, hunting down any evidence of their client’s missing daughter, who had been spotted at various homeless encampments around the city. Robin went to Edmonton, Cormoran to a car park on Old Kent Road. Robin was met with narrowed eyes and noncommittal answers, and returned to her new attic flat discouraged and soaked through from the torrential downpour. She was in her dressing gown, about to shower, when her phone buzzed. It was a text from Cormoran.

 _“Are you back at the office?”_ he asked.

 _“No, I was drenched in the rain, so I went to the attic,”_ she responded, _“Have you had any luck?”_

_“A woman said that she saw our target last week with a pimp named Golden Archie. Must ask Shanker about him. You?”_

_“Nothing. I’m soaked through and my homeless disguise smells like wet garbage.”_

_“My kind of woman.”_

Robin smiled and was about to respond when she heard a tremendous racket outside. A car horn was blaring a quick staccato beat, and a man was yelling. She ran to her tiny window to see what was going on.

“ROBIN!”

Her jaw dropped. A long black limo was waiting out front, with her brother Martin hanging out of the sun roof.

“ROBIN ELLACOTT, GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE!” he yelled.

Robin was too shocked feel anything, so she pulled on her slippers, grabbed her keys off the desk and ran down the back stairs, taking them two at a time. She could hear the limo’s horn blaring as she skidded around the side yard in the rain, clutching her dressing gown tightly around her. Martin grinned at her from the top of the car.

“Hallo, Robin!” he crowed, “Merry belated Christmas!”

“Martin!” she shouted, “What are you doing?”

“I got a job!”

“As a limo driver?”

“Yes!” The rain increased and hail started pinging down around them. “Get in!”

“I’m in my dressing gown, Martin, where are you taking me?”

“Just get in the damn car!” Robin opened the door to the limo and slid inside.

“Surprise!”

Robin blinked and shook her head. Inside the car was her entire family and Stella.

“Dad? _Mum?_ What are you doing here?”

“We missed you at Christmas, so we came on up for New Years,” Michael said.

“In a _limo?”_

“Well, now that Martin is a limo driver, we got a cheap rental.”

“Not that cheap,” Martin said from the front seat, “This is your Christmas present, Rob.”

“I love it,” Robin said, grinning, “I feel like a star.”

“You look like a homeless waif,” Jonathan chimed in.

“Jonathan!” Linda scolded.

“No, I’m glad you think so,” Robin said, “It took me a long time to master this homeless look. I was poking around the tent encampment in Edmonton today.”

“How’d you get your hair so realistically greasy?” Jonathan asked.

“With realistic grease. I put in shampoo and didn’t rinse it out.”

Stella gasped in horror.

“Oh honey, that’s _awful,_ ” she said.

“It’s the job,” Robin said, “But I do feel underdressed for this limo ride.”

“I’ll say,” Martin called from the front seat, “You’re underdressed for just about everything.”

“It’s not my fault you surprised me right before I showered,” she said, holding her dressing gown shut around her knees. “How did you know I was here, anyways?” she asked, “I just got in.”

“Cormoran texted me,” Martin said, “Said you were at the flat. Didn’t say you would smell like wet cabbage, though.”

“Yes, well, a real man doesn’t mind,” Robin said, primly, “Besides, he probably smells just as bad.”

Linda raised her eyebrows.

“So you two are…” she prompted.

“We’re something,” Robin said, unable to hide her grin. “Something good.”

Her family cheered. Robin rolled her eyes.

“Jon, Steve, pay up,” Martin said.

“Pay who?” Robin asked.

“Nothing,” Stephen said, “Martin is making stuff up.”

“Us guys each put in five pounds on when we thought you'd get together,” Martin said, “I said before 2012, so I win.”

Robin scowled.

“You were taking bets on my love life?” she asked.

“All’s fair in love and--JAYSUS!” Martin was interrupted when Robin pinched him squarely on the ear.

“Where exactly are we going?” Robin asked.

“Well, we were going to tour London in a limo, but seeing as how you’re half naked, maybe I should try to find a parking place for this tank and let you get out and shower.”

 

Martin dropped them off at Robin’s door and went off to hunt down a parking spot big enough for a stretch limo. Robin led them all up to her flat and excused herself to shower.

She got out twenty minutes later, shaved, shampooed, and in the green dress. Her whole family was sitting around on her floor and bed, gossiping about Jonathan’s new love life.

“Come here, Robin, let me comb your hair out,” Linda said. Robin knelt between her mother’s legs and let the steady tug of the comb pull her back into childhood.

“We loved your Christmas gifts,” Michael said, “We got them in the post day before yesterday.”

“I’m wearing the earrings as we speak,” Linda said.

“I got yours as well,” Robin said. “Jonathan, I’m reading the book you gave me right now. I can’t put it down.” Jonathan had mailed her a collection of short mysteries called _London Noir_. Stephen and Stella had given her a new teapot, and her parents had shipped her a microwave.

“Well, we got you one more thing,” Linda said, “Consider it a liberation present.”

“Mum, you’ve already spent so much on me…”

“Yes, well, this is important,” Linda said, twisting Robin’s hair up into a tight ballerina bun and tying it expertly in place. She went to her purse and handed Robin a large package. Robin opened it carefully, folding the paper to one side.

Inside was a pair of fiver-inch heels, black velvet with gold on the heel and around the bottom edge. They looked predatory.

“Oh, Mum, they’re beautiful…”

“You’ve spent too long making yourself shorter for Matthew,” Linda said, “Now’s your time to walk tall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor question: Do y'all have homeless encampments? Ours are out of control, I walk over sleeping people every morning to get to and from work. I figured you do, but then y'all tend to handle a lot of things better than we do, so maybe not.


	88. The Party

 

Martin swung the limo by the office to pick up Cormoran, then drove them all over to the party. Michael turned to Robin on their way over. 

“Your uncle sent me this text,” he said, pulling out his phone, “I thought you might like to see it.” On his phone was a photo of Baby and Rowntree, both looking very festive in gold party hats. Robin put her hands to her mouth and tried to keep the tears from welling up in her eyes.

“I miss her so much,” she said, “I think about her every day. How is she?”

“She misses you. But she and Rowntree get along like they were born together.”

“I would love for her to live with me, I just think she would be happier out where she can run and play freely. Even if my flat allowed dogs, she doesn’t belong in an attic.”

“That’s a very caring thing to do,” Linda said, “And the minute you’re ready, we’ll bring her back to you.”

“And you can come visit her whenever you’d like,” Michael said. Robin sniffed and nodded.

 

Robin could barely recognize the studio when they walked in. A long table draped in black fabric had been placed against one wall, already laden with food. Several small round tables took up half of the room, the other half left open for dancing. Each table had gold party hats and horns. Silver and gold balloons covered the ceiling, and one wall was covered in black butcher paper with the words “WHAT ARE YOUR DREAMS FOR 2012?” written on it in curly silver script, with silver and gold pens on a chair for people to contribute.

Slowly people began to filter in. Nick and Ilsa arrived first, Ilsa’s pregnant belly beginning to show. She moved slowly and carefully, as if she was carrying a fish tank of water under her shirt and any wrong move might cause it to spill. Becky, Cathy, and April from dance class came next, followed by Karl and Solomon from Krav Maga. Ishtahar and her husband Nassim brought a large tray of Balaklava, which Yusuf and Zina were already sampling. Colleen and baby George immediately began a conversation with Lucy, while Greg and the boys headed straight for the food. Jonathan Chan and his wife, Kim, brought chips and salsa. Two of Robin’s character witnesses arrived, Sean McNab and Rosalie Menjabe, both lawyers who had used Robin’s investigative services. Gwendolyn Koots usually maintained a policy of no interaction with patients outside of therapy, but she made an appearance, shaking Cormoran’s hand with a grip that could rival his drill sergeant’s. Wardle came late, carrying a large baguette and apologizing profusely to April for being late.

Cormoran was overwhelmed. The crowd of people surged around him, eating, laughing, drinking, talking. His leg was tight and throbbing from holding his weight all afternoon, so he piled his plate high, then parked himself at the corner-most table and watched the mingling from the shadows.

“Hello, Mister Strike.”

Yusuf sat down next to Cormoran with a plate of food. Cormoran cursed inwardly. He had been perfectly content being unnoticed and silent in the dark, but now he had to make stilted conversation with a child.

“Hello, Yusuf.”

“How are you this evening?” Yusuf always had a formal way of speaking, like a tiny dignitary.

“I’m excellent. You?”

“The same.”

They lapsed into silence. Cormoran sighed.

“Have you met my nephews?” he asked, “They’re around your age.” Cormoran immediately winced at how this sounded. His mother had always sent him off to play with other children his own age, assuming that they would get along solely because they’d spent the same number of years on earth.

Yusuf nodded.

“I met them,” he said simply.

“Yeah?”

“They like guns.” 

Cormoran chuckled.

“They do, don’t they,” he said, “And you don’t, I assume.”

“I’ve seen what guns can do.”

“Me too. I’m not particularly fond of them either.” He leaned back and studied Yusuf. “And what  _ do _ you like?”

“I like bugs. I want to be an entomologist. My bedroom is full of bugs I’ve found.”

“I bet your mum loves that.”

Yusuf grinned.

“She’s gotten used to it. As long as they stay in their containers.”

“The bugs here are pretty different from the ones in Syria, I would imagine.”

“Not as painful when they sting you.”

“When I was in Iraq I was stung by a Desert Hairy Scorpion on my ankle. Man, did that hurt like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Those are not poisonous, you know.”

“Wouldn’t have mattered, I lost that leg anyways.”

“Did you lose your leg in Iraq?”

“Afghanistan.”

“I’ve never been to Afghanistan. I’ve been to Iraq, though. I liked Iraq a lot.”

“It is a very beautiful country. Where did you stay there?”

“Erbil. My uncle lived there.”

“I’ve been to Erbil. Did you do the sky ride over the park?”

“Of course.”

“Erbil was beautiful. I went there with my friends. It felt strange to be enjoying myself there, when all around us there was war going on.”

Cormoran and his coworkers had gone to Erbil one weekend for a training conference. It had been a strange and stark difference from the palpable tension everyone felt back on the base. That was the weekend he had met Tracey. He rarely talked about his military experience, even to his closest friends, and here he certainly didn’t know why he was talking about it to this strange, bespectacled child. But Yusuf just nodded.

 

Robin watched Cormoran from across the room and smiled. He insisted that he was no good with children, but he was engaged in deep conversation with Yusuf, gesturing and laughing like he was talking with an old friend.

“He looks like he’s enjoying himself, doesn’t he,” Lucy said at Robin’s shoulder. Robin turned to her.

“He does. And here he says he’s not good with children.”

“He didn’t like children even when he was one,” Lucy said, smiling, “But he still managed to make friends.” 

While watching him, Robin’s hand had instinctively drifted to her moth necklace, and Lucy’s eyes followed. 

“What a beautiful necklace,” Lucy exclaimed.

“Yes, it’s my favorite, I wear it every day,” Robin said.

“I love moths.” Lucy took a sip of wine. By the looseness of her demeanor, Robin suspected that Lucy was not a regular drinker. “When we were children I had awful nightmares all the time. We had these terribly itchy wool blankets that would attract moths, and Stick would tell me that the moths were guardians against bad dreams. That they would keep me safe.” She smiled a bit sadly into her glass. “He was good that way.”

Somehow Cormoran continued to surprise and amaze Robin.

“He’s actually the one who gave me this necklace,” Robin said. Lucy’s eyes widened.

“Oh.” She smiled. “Oh, he must like you quite a lot.”


	89. The Beginning

 

The drinks flowed and the conversation got louder. Ilsa stopped holding herself like she was made of glass and started laughing with her head thrown back. Becky from dance class began leaning closer and closer to Martin. Lucy and Colleen were deep in conversation about the pros and cons of cloth nappies versus disposable.

Then Coco turned down the lights and turned up the music, and pulled Robin out onto the dance floor.

Robin had loved dancing as a child. Her dad would put on an old Itzhak Perlman record and Robin would spin all over the house. When she got a little bit older her mother enrolled her in a step dancing class, which she took for a couple of years until her legs grew faster than her coordination and she went through the universal clumsy phase. She became aware of her body, and grew self conscious, and girls grew mean, and she stopped dancing for fun. She and Matthew both learned ballroom dancing in school, and even joined an after school club, but it became more of a discipline than a joy. Then she took the burlesque class, and started loving her body again, started remembering how it felt to move freely. It used slow and exact movements, like ballroom dancing, but with a sexy edge that made her feel wild and rebellious. After every class she and the other girls went out for drinks at a bar called Made in Brasil, which often featured live music and occasional dance lessons. After getting a few drinks, the girls would hit the dance floor again, this time with fast, fierce movements that reminded her of that childhood freedom.

Tonight Robin was there again, feeling like a little kid, moving without any sort of self-consciousness or trepidation. She jumped and spun and clapped her hands, giddy with wine and love. She waltzed with her dad and shimmied with her mum, she did a carefully choreographed disco routine with her brothers, she joined the burlesque girls in the electric slide, and did an elaborate swing routine with Gwendolyn Koots.

Then there was a rumble of drums and a high whistle and _O Amanha_ blasted from the speakers. Coco met her eyes and grinned a challenge, and Robin kicked off her new shoes and flew.

Cormoran watched her from his corner. She had hiked her dress up to her waist to show her legs. Her feet were a blur of movement, barely touching the floor. She and Coco danced circles around each other, they moved forward and back and jumped and spun. Her hair was coming out of its bun, but she didn’t stop to fix it. She was a whirlwind of life and motion, wide-open happiness, joy laid bare.

The song came to an end with cheers and applause, and a new song started, slow and sweet.

Robin came over to where Cormoran was sitting and poured herself a large glass of water, which she drained in one long swallow. She was flushed and breathless and sweat shimmered on her chest.

“Where did you learn to dance like that?” Cormoran asked.

“What, the Samba?”

“Sure.”

“When I go out for drinks with the burlesque girls, we go to this Brazilian bar. They do all kinds of events and music and things. We learned there.”

“You learned how to do that at a _bar_?”

“It’s not that complicated, really. At its core it’s just a basic two-step. But sped up.”

“Two-step my arse.” He took her hand. “You’re beautiful when you dance,” he said. Robin looked down at her feet and glowed. “I mean it,” he went on, “I’ve never liked dancing, even when I had both legs, but watching you…” His eyes darted from side to side. “It makes me want to join you.”

Robin smiled, then sat down across his lap. She wrapped one arm around his neck and took his hand in hers.

“There,” she said, grinning, resting her forehead on his, “We’re dancing.”

Cormoran rocked back and forth in time with the music, making Robin giggle. Then they both slowed, relaxing into each other, letting their breath mix and feeling the heat of the other’s skin.

Cormoran huffed out a sudden laugh.

“What?” Robin asked.

“Nothing. Just. Where were you last year at this time?”

“I was at a party thrown by some of Matthew’s work friends. I spent the evening smiling along with inside jokes that I didn’t understand and trying to ignore Darrin’s lecherous glances.”

“I spent last New Year’s Eve in a freezing garage, photographing a cheating husband shagging a doped up hooker. Then I went home and drank myself silly, trying not to think about kissing your hand.”

“Ah, that hand kiss, that was…” Robin closed her eyes, remembering. “That was a sanctified moment.”

Cormoran brought her hand to his lips.

“And now…” he said.

“Now here we are.”

“Indeed.”

At the front of the room, Coco turned off the music.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” she shouted, “2012 WILL BEGIN IN TEN…”

“Robin.” Cormoran’s voice deepened, and when he put his hand on her cheek she could feel him trembling. “Robin, I… Jesus…” He looked up at the ceiling and blinked several times.

“SIX… FIVE…”

“Robin, Christ, I’m so in love with you.”

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

The room exploded in cheers and horns and champagne bottles popping. Auld Lang Syne started playing over the speakers. Robin was laughing, tears running down her face, and she was kissing him, kissing Cormoran Strike, and they were both grinning like idiots.

“I think…” she said, “I think I’m going to like 2012."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a wild ride, and has meant so so so much to me. I've learned a lot about myself while writing it, and your support has kept me going through some really hard times. Now FEAR NOT, it's the end of this particular fic, but I'm working on more, that can work along with this one. I adore you all, thank you so much for sticking with it till the end.  
> Also I did a drawing!  
> https://sleepyeye17.tumblr.com/image/171798527698


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